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John G. Perry, March, 1SC4-

LETTERS

FROM A SURGEON OF THE
CIVIL WAR

COMPILED BY

MARTHA DERBY PERRY

Author of "God's Light as it Came to Me "

ILLUSTRATED FROM PHOTOGRAPHS

BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY

1906

Checked

THE NEW YORK

PUBLIC LIBRARY

5601 22

ASTOR, LENOX AND
TILDEN FOUNDATIONS.

R „ 1912 ,nnL

— CoPYItlGIlT, lQOfr

By Little, Brown, and Company,

Published June, 1906

THE TJNIVEBSITY PBESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.

My Husband and I dedicate these pages
to our Nieces and Nephews, who though
unborn in our early days, are now to us
as if they had always been.

INTRODUCTION

IN a much weather-beaten trunk, which
since the Civil War has travelled from
one attic to another, have been carefully
preserved a pair of shoulder-straps, a silver
trefoil (the badge of the Second Corps of
the Army of the Potomac), a green military
sash, a well-worn workbag in which is still
a big darning-needle with its half-used
thread, numerous photographs of officers
and localities, and a mass of letters.

From the end of the war until the pres-
ent time these letters have remained un-
opened, and as the contents are mixed with
much which is personal, it seems best to
separate the war news from the rest and
preserve it in a connected form which may
prove of interest to the general reader,
vii

INTRODUCTION

Although there are gaps in the order of the
correspondence, it is sufficiently connected
to tell its own story.

John G. Perry of Boston, Mass., entered
Harvard College in 1858, bearing with him
a very youthful attachment ; and in the
undoubting judgment of youth, he and I,
but boy and girl, in light-hearted gayety
strolled one evening in the moonlight to
consider the unsupportable length of time
before living our lives together. First the
present college term ; then the Medical
School and hospital service after, for even
in childhood John was called "the little
doctor." How indefinite it all seemed, —
how far, far away the future ! So we wan-
dered on, regardless of all possible interfer-
ence in our joy of life, and finally decided
with but little, or I may say no hesitation,
that the college life, then but a few months
advanced, must be abandoned and the Sci-
entific School, offering shorter terms and
viii

INTRODUCTION

collateral studies, adopted — for even then
the medical course must follow. This was
insurmountable ; and thus it was that the
plan of action agreed upon by both was
taken and earnestly continued until the
spring of 1862, when the Government issued
a call for volunteer contract assistant sur-
geons to serve in the military hospitals, to
thus avoid detaching the commissioned
assistant surgeons, who were needed on the
fields of battle, from their respective regi-
ments. The medical student in general
belonged to the class best adapted to this
service, and as it exactly fitted the needs of
this particular one, he made application and
was accepted.

Armed with authority from the Surgeon
General of the State of Massachusetts
(Dale), he started for the rendezvous, For-
tress Monroe, where he was to report to
Surgeon General Cuyler of that depart-
ment.

INTRODUCTION

Arriving there early one morning in com-
pany with many others, he was assigned to
duty at the Chesapeake Hospital, formerly
a seminary for young ladies, now the Indian
School. Thus began his army experiences.

He had received permission to fit himself
for his final examinations at the Boston
Medical School by means of experience in
army hospitals rather than through the
usual routine of study, and much that is
recorded in the following extracts was the
result of this especial experience and study.

Acknowledgment is due the Military
Order of the Loyal Legion of Massachu-
setts for permission to copy photographs
in their collection.

MARTHA DERBY PERRY.

CONTENTS

Chapter Page
I. In the Chesapeake Hospital, Fortress

Monroe 1

II. First Experience as a Commissioned

Officer 21

III. An Accident and its Conclusion . . 47

IV. The New York Riot 57

V. Return to the Army 74

VI. The Murder of Captain McKay . . 80

VII. Camp near Culpeper 99

VIII. The Battle of Bristoe Station . . 104

IX. Marching and Counter-marching . 119

X. The Other Side of Germannia Ford 132

XI. Camp at Stevensburg, Va 147

XII. The Commencement of Grant's Cam-
paign 163

XIII. Captain Kelliher's Wounds ... 178

XIV. Operating and Marching . . . . 184

CONTENTS

Chapter Page

XV. The Death of Lieutenant G of

the Sharpshooters 190

XVI. A Delightful Episode 195

XVII. Field Hospital near Petersburg . . 207

XVIII. Camp near Petersburg 217

x:i

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Portrait of John G. Perry, March, 1864 . Frontispiece

View of Fredericksburg from above the

Town of Falmouth Facing page 32

The Post Office « « 76

Winter Quarters of the Twentieth Mas-
sachusetts « "126

Sketch of the Hut of an Officer of the

Twentieth Massachusetts . . . . " "150

The Country through which the Battle
of the Wilderness was Fought — A
Pontoon Bridge " "174

An Ambulance removing: the Wounded " " 208

*©

Major-General Bartlett " "218

LETTERS

FROM A SURGEON OF THE
CIVIL WAR

CHAPTER I

IN THE CHESAPEAKE HOSPITAL, FORTRESS
MONROE

May 18th, 1862.

I AM sitting on the bed of a wounded
Confederate, and using paper which
he kindly offered me. As Sunday is
generally the battle day, a medical grad-
uate and I — he, by the way, as green as
the foliage — had hurried through from
Boston, hoping to reach here and be fairly
at work by that time, but we found we
were to be faced by many difficulties.

On our arrival I reported to the brigade
surgeon, who promptly said there was
neither room for me nor need of my ser-
vices; still, he would do his best to find
i 1

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

me work, and so politely bowed me to the
door. This was a surprise, but, nothing
daunted, I wandered aimlessly about, con-
scious, however, that in my pocket were
official credentials which entitled me to the
position of a government contract assistant
surgeon : but there seemed so much red tape
to unfold I could hardly find the right end
to begin on.

Seeing the door of a cottage ajar, I
entered, and found myself in the presence
of a surgeon who was hard at work at the
operating table, with a number of assist-
ants in attendance. I watched them, the
surgeon now and then eying me, as if to
say, " What the devil are you doing here? "
until in the first spare moment he asked my
business. I gave him my name, told him
what I had come for, and of the rebuff I
had just received. At that he laughed,
saying, " Xever mind, you are just the
man needed; we are overloaded with work
and help is absolutely necessary; you shall
2

OF THE CIVIL WAR

share my quarters, and I will see that you
are all right."

At mess that evening this good friend,
Dr. Cushing, placed my seat beside his,
and noticing that I felt a little anxious as
to my possible reception by the brigade
surgeon in charge, who had just entered,
touched my knee, whispering, "If you
don't notice him, he won't you ; you 're all
right; " and so here I was at once installed
for the time as Dr. Cushing's assistant.

This hospital is situated a short distance
from the fort and on the Hampton Road.
From where I am writing I see many ships
of war riding at anchor in the stream, and
also the very spot where the battle between
the " Merrimac " and the " Monitor " took
place. The building holds about seven hun-
dred patients, and is now full; beside it is
a cottage, and also some twenty tents, all
occupied by sick and wounded Confeder-
ates. Dr. Cushing and I have entire charge
of these men, who seem in good spirits, and

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

are finer looking fellows than our own men
here. I hear that the surgeon who served
before me, while dressing a soldier's wound,
laid the knife for a moment on the bed.
The man seized it and made a lunge at the
doctor, but instead of killing him, as he had
intended, only ran it into his arm; where-
upon the doctor instantly shot him. I sus-
pect that the surgeon may have been rough
in this instance, possibly intentionally so;
I am careful, however, not to leave my in-
struments within reach of these prisoners,
although they seem friendly and I do not
fear them.

May 28th, 1862.

On one of the beds there lies, fast asleep,
a Confederate surgeon, — a thoroughbred
South Carolinian, who never, before the
war, passed his State lines. He was cap-
tured with a number of others in the last
engagement before Richmond, and as most
of these men were wounded, he was de-
tailed to care for them. Dressed entirely
4

OF THE CIVIL WAR

in Alabama homespun, — which is the
ugliest snuff-colored stuff imaginable, —
a broad-brimmed planter's hat covering his
head, and stained with mud and blood from
head to foot, the appearance of this officer
when he first arrived was strange enough;
but his face was bright and intelligent.

His greeting was unexpected: "I am
delighted to meet men from Massachusetts,
for I know I shall find in them intelligence
and hospitality " ; and he certainly did find
the latter, for we furnished him through-
out with clothes. He enjoys reading the
Boston newspapers, and we have many
pleasant chats together, for I find he is
anxious to discover for himself the true
state of affairs at the North, and whether
the Yankee hordes are such bloodhounds
as he has been taught to consider them.
We seem to be making each other's ac-
quaintance by simple good fellowship, and
this, after all, is the only true way.

About sundown last night I was walk-
5

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

ing on the beach quietly smoking my pipe,
when I saw something which proved to be
the body of a man floating on the water
just at the edge of the shore. I pulled it
up on the beach, covered it with seaweed,
and then reported the incident. Meanwhile
I returned to watch, walking up and down
in the moonlight, or standing by the mound
of seaweed, thinking of the poor nameless
thing beneath, — thinking in ways that a
month since were unknown to me. Since
coming here death has faced me at every
turn and in every conceivable form; yet
my own future, my happiness, and my ac-
tivity seem assured to me. Did that poor
fellow look forward as confidently, I won-
dered? Possibly, and yet I cannot think
he felt quite as safe as I. Then, was I
homesick? Only the moon and the stars
and the night could testify. . . .

The arrival of the provost marshal
forced me back again to the existing
facts. He recognized the body as that of
6

OF THE CIVIL WAR

one of the unfortunates who was drowned

when the " Cumberland " was sunk by the

" Merrimac."

June 15th, 1862.

This afternoon I collected all my con-
valescents in the kitchen of the cottage,
placed them about a blazing fire, — for it
was chilly and raining hard outside, — and
started the singing of Methodist hymns.
The music caught like an epidemic, and
soon from every side came doctors, nurses,
patients, negroes, until we had a rousing
chorus. All of them sang with their whole
souls, each one asking for his favorite
hymn, and the concert ended with " Old
Hundred." How I did enjoy it!

June 20th, 1862.

I hear from outside sources that I am
working under contract and receiving full
pay. It is not so. Congress has voted to
pay all volunteer surgeons and assistant
surgeons, but as I have neither yet taken
7

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

my degree nor any examination for it, I
am not included in that list. I hold the
position of assistant surgeon, but not the

pay.

June 23rd, 1862.

I have just returned from Norfolk,
where I passed a day and night, and must
tell you a little of my experience.

I reached there after about an hour's
delightful sail, and by invitation went on
board the " Minnesota,' ' which lies just off
the city, where I met many old friends and
was hospitably entertained. In the after-
noon I walked through some of the prin-
cipal streets with several officers of the
ship. Hundreds of negroes of every age
and size watched us as we approached
the wharf, grinning and showing their
white teeth, and calling out: "By Golly!
what big Yanks ! Now you '11 see de rebs
run ! " It was the hour when the houses
were thrown open to the cool evening
breeze, and as we looked through the grass-
8 l

OF THE CIVIL WAR

grown streets people were sitting on every
piazza and doorstep. When they saw us
coming there was much shifting of chairs
and rearranging of skirts; some ran into
the house and closed the door in our faces,
then flew to the window to peep through
the blinds, while others remained and turned
their backs upon us. The children of one
family were placed in a row and told to
sing " Dixie " as we passed, which they
did vociferously. I did not blame them;
under similar circumstances, between all
members of the human family there is a
strong likeness. The same thing might
occur anywhere.

Throughout the city guards were sta-
tioned at intervals like policemen; and I
saw but one woman who was not in deep
mourning.

There was a British frigate in the stream,
lying beside the " Minnesota," and on Sat-
urday night the English officers gave an
entertainment on board to the Southern
9

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

ladies, on which occasion the tables were
dressed with Confederate flags. This is
the way John Bull figures asa" neutral "
in our affairs.

July 1st, 1862.

A new contingent to-day of sick and
wounded; in fact, the men arrived in such
numbers that we laid them on the grass
and dressed their wounds there. I was
obliged to perform an operation on one
man and cut off two of his fingers. He
sat up perfectly straight and did not wince
a particle. I called him a " man," for he
truly deserved the title, though he, poor
fellow, was a mere boy of eighteen years.

Dr. Cushing, whom I assisted, has gone
home, and I have entire charge of the cot-
tage. The surgeon-general says he shall
place the worst cases here, as it is the
healthiest place there is. Think of the
experience I shall gain!

OF THE CIVIL WAR

July 3rd, 1862.

A thousand wounded men arrived at
the fort to-night, and to-morrow we shall
probably have five hundred more. The
work is endless.

Last night the heat was intense, and it
seemed to me that a puff of pure air, free
from the atmosphere of hospital wards,
would be worth a kingdom; so, finding a
few spare moments, I drew a mattress out
on the cottage piazza, upon which I threw
myself. The situation of our hospital is
quite at the edge of the bluff over the
water, so that we have the beautiful bay
almost beneath us. The sun was just set-
ting ; sky and water were aglow with color,
and while smoking my pipe I saw passing
below a large force of transports loaded
with soldiers whom I knew were com-
manded by General Burnside. I knew also
that the President and General Scott were
aboard. Bands were playing, flags flying,
11

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

and all seemed gay and brilliant. On they
sailed, with the sunlight upon them, on
into the purple and the gray. "Ah!" I
thought, solaced by my pipe, " behind me
in the stifling wards is the night of that
which has passed."

In one of my rooms lies a young fellow
who was a prisoner on board the " Teaser,"
a Confederate gunboat, when she was cap-
tured on the James River. He said our
gunboat came round the bend of the river
without being seen, and threw a shell which
passed directly through their vessel. The
Confederates jumped overboard and swam
for the shore, but, as he was afraid another
shell would be thrown and blow her up, he
lowered the flag, and in this way, most
fortunately, made his escape. He tells me
that our men found on board the " Teaser "
a chart of the river, showing a passage
through the obstructions which had been
considered impassable by the Federal fleet.
One of my Confederate patients died
12

OF THE CIVIL WAR

to-day. He called me to his bed early this
morning and said that he knew of his con-
dition and was fully prepared to go, but
there was one thing he wanted to do before
the end, and that was to beg me to take
his money and buy something which I could
always keep in remembrance of him. He
talked a great while about it, nor could I
persuade him that he ought to divide the
whole sum among the nurses who had been
so kind to him. At one o'clock he died;
you will realize the simple pathos in the last
act of this poor fellow's history, when I tell
you that his whole fortune amounted to less
than fifty cents.

I have a plantation full of negroes under
my charge across the river. Twenty are
down with measles and twenty more with
fever and ague. They are so confoundedly
black that at first I found it difficult to
discriminate the measles, but now I can
see even the dirt. They always have very
nice berry pies for me, and you may smile,
13

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

but I really believe these berry pies will
make a new man of me.

July 21st, 1862.

Four hundred released prisoners arrived
to-day under flag of truce, and I assure
you it was a most distressing sight. All
of them were captured during the seven
days' fight and had been prisoners but three
weeks ; yet they were starved, ragged, and
filthy beyond description. Some had on
only shirts ; others drawers without shirts ;
and one wore simply a rough blanket over
his naked body, yet all were either wounded
or ill. Their wounds had been dressed only
by what each could do for the other, and
by making use of the water given them to
drink. These men were released because
the Confederates could not feed them.
They never complain, talking with reluc-
tance of their suffering while in prison,
and always end by saying, " It was the
best the enemy could do for us." My re-
14

OF THE CIVIL WAR

spect for human nature grows every day
that I am here. I see its littleness, but its
greatness makes far the deeper impression.
The fortitude with which these men bear
their hard lot is wonderful, but they are
not the only heroes; I am constantly
brought in contact with such courage in
so many of the men, and such magnanim-
ity, that I am fairly awed.

July 23rd, 1862.
I have many curious cases under my
care. Some of the patients have been
prisoners in Richmond, but although al-
most starved and their wounds dressed
only by having water poured over them,
they are all doing finely. One of them
had a ball enter the very apex, or tip end,
of his nose, and pass through his head, but
he has not had a bad symptom and is now
nearly well. Another man was struck by
a ball in the forehead, whence it passed
directly round his head under the skin,
15

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

down and around his neck, making its exit
close to the jugular vein and carotid artery.
Two others were shot through the lungs,
and yet all these fellows are doing finely.
I account for it from the very fact of their
enforced low diet.

July 25th, 1862.
Released prisoners say that a pestilence
is feared in Richmond, where almost every
house is turned into a hospital. If a man
dies of fever his body is rolled in tar and
smoked before burial. Corpses are buried
without coffins and scarcely covered with
earth. No names mark the grave, but
simply the number which that one grave con-
tains: "Sixty-five Confederates," "Twenty
Federals," or " Yankees," etc.

August 1st, 1862.

I have been up to the army, — the Army

of the Potomac, — and returned last night

on the hospital boat with released prisoners.

The trip was very interesting, though full

OF THE CIVIL WAR

of hard work. On our way we shelled the
woods wherever we thought batteries might
be planted. At one point we saw a sus-
picious horse and wagon, and off went a
ten-inch shell screaming like a wild devil
over the tops of the trees, while every one
on the boat eagerly watched the effect.
Suddenly there was a boom, and away flew
the horse, stripped of all encumbrance by
the trees and bushes, for all the world as
if after the shell.

On my arrival at headquarters, at Har-
rison's Landing, after seeing all I could
of camps and such matters, I stumbled into
a hospital tent and there remained, sleep-
ing that night under an ambulance, with
my blanket for a pillow. The next morn-
ing orders came to start the released pris-
oners for Chesapeake Hospital and leave
the worst cases there. I went on board
the transport and, finding the men in a
most pitiable condition, offered my ser-
vices, which were immediately accepted.
2 17

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

Some were almost naked; others without
a rag on them. Poor fellows! Their
wounds had not been dressed at all, and
many were so weak from starvation they
could barely walk. We were fifteen hours
on board that boat without a morsel of
food, and I could have almost eaten my
tobacco. Yet not a word of complaint had
been breathed by one of those brave men;
the fact that they were released seemed
sufficient compensation for all their suf-
fering. We were finally transferred from
the hospital boat to a tugboat which was
loaded with bread.

August 4th, 1862.

Something is going on near the army,
for gunboats have been moving up and
down the river all day, and the big Union
gun at the fort is booming throughout the
surrounding country every half hour, mak-
ing the very earth quake. The sound stirs
in me an intense enthusiasm which I have
instantly to stifle and suppress, for it is
18

OF THE CIVIL WAR

impossible to do more than I am now
doing without my medical degree, which
I must have before continuing the work
much longer. The brigade surgeon says
I must stay here, but the necessities of
my future career force me back to my
studies; although this surgical practice
is of great value, yet I reach in it only
two branches of the profession, and there
are many others of vital importance. My
cottage is full, in fact the whole hospital
is crowded, and I am tired out, having
no relief whatever from steady, close
confinement.

I see by the papers that the North is
in a ferment since the draft; that recruit-
ing goes on everywhere, the streets being
filled with detachments of troops parad-
ing and enticing men to enlist; and that
merchants offer to keep open the positions
of clerks who do enlist, and in some cases
to continue their salaries while they are
absent.

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

Note: My husband became at this time
so exhausted from overwork that he was
obliged to leave suddenly for home. After
a severe illness he studied for and success-
fully passed his final examinations at the
Boston Medical School. We were then
married, on March 18th, 1863, and on the
same day he received his commission as
assistant surgeon of the Twentieth Mass-
achusetts Volunteers. On the 11th of
April, 1863, he returned to the army.

OF THE CIVIL WAR

CHAPTER II

FIRST EXPERIENCE AS A COMMISSIONED
OFFICER

Washington, April 13th, 1863.

OF all the disagreeable soldier-loaf-
ing places I was ever in, this is
the worst. The city is rambling,
the streets are dusty, unclean, rilled with
army officers of every grade and with
privates. Were it not for the necessity of
procuring passes, I would be at this mo-
ment with my regiment. Vague rumors
concerning army movements have been
flying through the city, and I am anxious
to be on duty. There is no surgeon with
the Twentieth now, so I expect to have full
charge.

Falmouth, April 15th, 1863.

I have felt dazed and benumbed since
my arrival here, probably from the effort
21

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

I made before leaving home to suppress
all gathering emotions. On the Sound
boat I gave way, and I confess to behav-
ing as I did when a child for the first time
away from home. I cried as I did then, —
all night long. I thought Harry Abbott
in the berth above me was fast asleep, when
suddenly he rolled over and looked down
upon me. I felt for the moment thor-
oughly ashamed of myself, but he said
nothing and settled back into his place,
and then I heard him crying also. We
had talked things over a bit, and I knew
the poor fellow felt that he had seen his
home for the last time, and that he had
passed safely through so many battles he
could hardly escape unscathed again.
However, I am quite cheerful now, and
manage when in camp with the other,
officers to wear even a smile; but I think
if they could see me after I turn in at
night the change of expression would
astonish them.

OF THE CIVIL WAR

I am now quite settled in my camp
quarters, feeling at times very like a raw
recruit, but usually more like a veteran.
We are pleasantly situated on the banks
of a river overlooking the enemy's camp
on the opposite shore, about two hundred
yards away. The Confederates keep them-
selves pretty dark, only allowing us to see
their pickets.

I am surgeon-in-charge nominally, as
the regiment has not its full quota of
men, but only acting surgeon in reality.
Dr. Hayward, the former surgeon, is now
surgeon-in-chief of the brigade, and has
nothing more to do with the Twentieth,
except that he lives and messes with us.

Last night I rode with some others to
General Couch's headquarters, and was
introduced to the great men there. Yes,
it was a pleasant thing to do, and the
afterglow of enjoyment was even more
pleasant.

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

April 23rd, 1863.

I have been off on picket duty and had
my first experience at the outposts. It
stormed most lustily the whole time. For-
tunately, I had to remain but thirty-six
hours, which is just half of the time of
the men on guard. I set out from here
on horseback, with pistol in holster, knap-
sack on my back; one man in front bear-
ing my hospital knapsack filled with
medicines, instruments, bandages, etc., and
my servant — a fine, trusty little German
who had served in many a war — carrying
my rations and blankets. On my arrival
at the post I reported to the commandant,
and, this little formality over, looked for
a suitable place to quarter myself.

The picket was stationed in what had
been a dense forest before our troops ar-
rived, although now the pioneer's axe had
made a clearing for us. . . . Pickets are
the outposts of the army. They are thrown

OF THE CIVIL WAR

out at certain distances to watch the en-
emy's movements, to prevent, if possible,
any hostile activity, and to give warning
of danger. In an army of this size picket
duty requires about five thousand men, who
are generally placed within a short distance
of the pickets of the opposing force, and
are divided into parties of nine, each com-
manded by an officer. Behind these are
placed groups of men in reserve, who re-
lieve the others at intervals, and in case
of attack assist in keeping the enemy at
bay. Every picket has a surgeon, who
remains in the rear with the reserve. He
is selected from the regiments by the
surgeon-in-chief of the division. A sen-
tinel's duty is arduous, especially to a raw
recruit ; he must be persistently on the alert,
in spite, often, of almost overwhelming
drowsiness from the weary monotony of
his duty and the stillness of his surround-
ings. A soldier who had never been under
fire once described to me his absolute terror
25

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

at first finding himself one dark night on
picket duty. He said the well-worn phrase
" my hair stood on end " never had con-
veyed to him much meaning, but on this
night he knew it to be absolutely true. It
seemed to him that an enemy lurked be-
hind every bush, and when a shot did cut
the air he distinctly felt his cap rise with
his bristling hair.

To return to my story. With the aid
of my servant I built a little covering of
logs and pine boughs, and then, after an
enjoyable breakfast of coffee, hardtack,
and cold salt pork, lighted my pipe and
strolled down to the outposts to take a
view of Johnny Reb.

The Rappahannock separates the oppos-
ing armies, the picket of each being within
a stone's throw of the other, even at the
widest part of the river. The water rushes
by over immense rocks, which sometimes
rise above the surface; the banks are
thickly wooded, and in their midst rise
26

OF THE CIVIL WAR

rude huts and earthworks. I sat a long
time watching the Confederates, wonder-
ing as to the outcome of the struggle,
trying to place myself in their attitude
and to look at things from their stand-
point. These reflections were often in-
terrupted by shouts from the enemy's
pickets across the river to ours, which al-
ways drew a curt reply from a Yankee
sentinel.

Rain soon drove me back to my hut,
and then it poured in earnest, streaming
through every crack and crevice. In half
an hour there was an inch of water cover-
ing the floor. Wrapped in my blanket, I
fell into a deep sleep, and awoke about
four in the afternoon to find that the rain
had ceased. Later, however, the storm re-
turned with redoubled strength and made
the woods near by roar with its fury. In
an interval of calm I built a fire to cook
my supper, thinking it would be the only
opportunity, but before it was ready down

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

came the rain again and put an end to
it all.

Again I lay in my blanket, but at mid-
night the commanding officer awoke me to
beg a shelter from the storm. No sooner
had we settled ourselves to sleep than we
were aroused by a messenger from head-
quarters, ordering us to he on our arms,
as an attack was expected.

I awoke at daybreak benumbed with
cold. At noon the drum beat, my horse
was brought me, and I returned to the old
quarters again, after my first experience
as picket surgeon.

April 26th, 1863.

This is the second Sunday I have been
with the army, and the third away from
home. It is a beautiful day, without a
cloud in the sky, and I have had a de-
lightful five hours' ride with the Doctor
and Major Macy. We rode the entire
way by the river, enjoying intensely the
lovely scenery, and went as far as the

OF THE CIVIL WAR

extreme right of our picket, halting on
the brow of a hill overhanging the river,
and from which we looked directly into the
camp of the enemy and down upon their
outposts. Last night a number of us rode
over to General Sedgwick's headquarters
to see some of his staff, and had a jolly
time. The General ordered out the band
and gave us a parade of his corps.

April 29th, 1863.

The last twelve hours have been very
exciting. All the army has moved except-
ing our division, which is left to protect
the town and deceive the enemy. The
regiment is picketing along the river for
four or five miles, and we expect marching
orders about dark. Our division crossed
the river just below Fredericksburg with
little opposition. We can hear the firing
now quite distinctly, and each one wonders
what part he is to take in the ball.

Last night the brigade band serenaded
29

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

us, and our room was so filled with gen-
erals and subordinate officers that some of
us sat on the floor. ... In all this stir and
excitement I listened to the conversation
about me, saying little ; so much of me was
far away, wishing, as I always do wish at
such times, that I were not alone. But
there is a strange romance in it all.

April 30th, 1863.

Still here in Falmouth. We are in the
centre of the Union line and are expected
to hold this place and prevent the Confed-
erates from cutting off supplies or dividing
our forces. They have taken to their rifle-
pits, undoubtedly anticipating an attack,
and are so near that I can see their faces
with the poorest opera-glass. The moon
shines gloriously to-night, and when we
march it will be right into the enemy's
country; but the loafing about, waiting
for orders to start, the suspense and delay,
are almost unendurable.

OF THE CIVIL WAR

Falmouth, May 1st, 1863.

The Government has lately kept back the
mail, so that this afternoon, when letters
came in a heap, I gave such a shout of joy
that it startled Dr. Hayward and Macy
out of a sound sleep; they thought me
mad. How I have enjoyed my letters,
and how I drank in every word! I think
that when two people are separated, if the
one absent is occupied, the lot of the one
left at home is the harder; but if the one
absent is not occupied, I think his lot must
be the harder.

The sun has set, the moon is resplen-
dent, and if orders should come to-night
the march would be enjoyable. Every-
thing is packed and my horse saddled, but
the waiting is very trying. To-day we
have heard firing on all sides, and two
hundred prisoners captured by our forces
have just passed. There was a little ex-
citement this afternoon, when a private
31

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

who was crazy drunk rushed into our
quarters, insulted us, and attempted to
strike Harry Abbott, who happened to be
standing near. After a hard struggle we
conquered him. He will be severely pun-
ished for such folly.

Falmouth, May 5th, 1863.

Yesterday the regiment was in the city
of Fredericksburg; to-day it is back in its
old quarters at Falmouth, and I am in the
same house and room. We have had two
days of pretty hard fighting; the first day
winning everything, the second losing all
we had gained.

On Saturday night we broke camp and
marched to the Lacy house, where we
expected to cross the river by pontoon-
bridge. No bridge having been built, I
managed to sleep very well in a gutter,
forming a half circle, with my head on
one side and feet on the other. In the
morning we crossed the bridge that had

H §

°3 5

OF THE CIVIL WAR

been finally put together during the night,
and easily marched into Fredericksburg,
which was not only deserted by the Con-
federate army, but by most of the able-
bodied inhabitants as well.

This attack on the city and its heights
was a " blind " to hold the enemy in check
while General Hooker should cross the river
above, and this is the way it was done. We
formed on the edge of the stream, hidden
from view of the opposing forces, and to
the west of the city, and in line of battle
climbed the bank and faced a broad open
plain which extended back several hundred
yards towards Mayre's Heights, where were
the earthworks and rifle-pits of the Con-
federates. All of us looked for a sweep-
ing fire the instant we should appear on
the plain, but as none came, a faint hope
arose in my inexperienced mind that the
heights were deserted; for this coming
battle was my first, and ideas concerning
it were very vague. Of one fact I was
3 33

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

sure, that until something did take place,
I wished to ride in front of the line with
Colonel Macy. While crossing the plain
we noticed an officer behind the first breast-
work, mounted on a gray horse such as
Colonel Hall rode, the commanding officer
of the brigade. Macy said he was Colonel
Hall. As we drew near, a flame of fire
suddenly burst forth, and a solid shot
whizzed over our heads.

" Dismount," cried Macy, " and let your
horse go ! "

We threw ourselves flat on the ground,
as did also the men in line, and so re-
mained until the firing ceased. Then came
the order "Charge!" and the line swept
by me, I recognizing for the first time that
my place was at the rear and not at the
front. The Confederates made but little
resistance, abandoning their entrenchments
and retreating before our line until the
order "Halt!" was given to our men.
Later we returned to the Confederate

OF THE CIVIL WAR

earthworks, beyond which we had chased
the enemy for over a mile.

The Twentieth Massachusetts was then
detailed to occupy the city of Fredericks-
burg as a provost guard. Meantime I
searched for my mare, " Bessie," and
found her securely tethered with Macy's
horse on the bank of the river, in charge
of an orderly. Mounting, I rode into the
city, and there saw the necessity of a pro-
vost guard, for the houses had been pil-
laged, and our men were masquerading
through the streets in women's attire, —
nightcaps and gowns, silk dresses, etc.

I selected a nice brick house for my
hospital. On entering the parlor of this
deserted mansion I was startled to see a
Union officer, in rank a major, stretched
upon the floor, and quite dead. How came
he here before the arrival of his compan-
ions, and, if a spy, why that dress? I
searched the body for a name, or for any
sign that might give a clue to his fate, but
35

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

in vain; everything was shrouded then, as
now, in impenetrable mystery.

That night the enemy were strongly re-
inforced, and the next morning our men
had the mortification of being driven back
from the earthworks into the city, and
losing that which they had so splendidly
gained the day before. More than this,
our force was now so small that we could
do nothing but fall back upon Falmouth
without striking a blow. Yesterday, there-
fore, we simply held ourselves in readiness
to receive an attack, but none came. The
enemy kept up a sort of duel with our
skirmishers all day long, which wearied the
men almost to death. Occasionally a shell
dropped into the city, and sharpshooters
had the range of many of the streets,
making it extremely dangerous to move
about.

I had to run the gauntlet many times,
and on one of my expeditions heard a
woman's piercing screams from a house
36

OF THE CIVIL WAR

by the way. I rushed in, and found an
elderly woman of immense size in a vio-
lent fit of hysterics. She was seated in a
rocking-chair, swaying back and forth, evi-
dently beside herself with terror, scream-
ing, moaning, and crying. While I did
what I could in the hurry of the moment
to reassure the poor thing, a shell came
whizzing through the air above, exploding
as it fell into the square in front of us.
Over went the old woman backwards, turn-
ing a complete somersault, chair and all.
For a moment there was a convulsion of
arms and legs, and then such shrieks that
it seemed to me the din outside was noth-
ing to that within. I gathered her together
as quickly as I could, — it was difficult to
find any particular part to hold on to, —
and when she had wit and breath enough
to answer, asked for the other inmates of
the house; vague and muffled sounds told
me they were near, and when she pointed
with her finger downwards, sure enough,
37

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

I found them in the cellar huddled to-
gether, both whites and negroes. It
seemed that the old woman was too large
to manage the cellar stairs, and they, sup-
posing from all the uproar that she was
killed, were every moment expecting a like
fate for themselves. However, they soon
ventured up, and I hurried back to my
hospital.

This morning, knowing by the Confed-
erate yells that the enemy had been still
more strongly reinforced, an attack upon
us seemed certain. ... I have never, since
I was born, heard so fearful a noise as a
rebel yell. It is nothing like a hurrah, but
rather a regular wildcat screech. Each
shell that burst over the heads of our men
was followed by one of these yells, and
the sound was appalling.

Falmouth, May 6th, 1863.
Sad and discouraging news comes to us
this morning. General Hooker, who was
38

OF THE CIVIL WAR

behind Fredericksburg, expecting to fight
the great battle there, has been flanked and
driven back to the river, which he is now
recrossing. The Confederates are push-
ing him hard, and he will find it difficult
to save his whole army. I can distinctly
hear the bursting of the enemy's shells as
they pour upon him. . . . One of General
Sedgwick's aides has just come in, and
says General Hooker is doing his utmost
to save his forces from utter rout and
demoralization.

May 7th, 1863.

We have marching orders, and must
again cross the river and attack the same
fortifications before Fredericksburg which
were taken so gallantly last Sunday. Gen-
eral Hooker has been obliged to fall back
upon this side of the river, and is now
quartered with his troops just where they
were before he moved. Below Fredericks-
burg General Sedgwick crossed the river,
drove the enemy from their heights, and
39

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

marched his troops in behind their army, —
a most spirited manoeuvre. The Twentieth
formed a part of General Couch's corps,
which attacked the enemy's centre, striking
through Fredericksburg, and fighting the
Confederates in their own rifle-pits and
fortifications. The Federal forces charged,
were driven back twice, rallied the third
time, and carried the day, finally chasing
the enemy three miles. General Hooker
sent word to hold the city till he could reach
it, but he being defeated and driven back,
the Union troops were forced to retreat
and yield all they had won. . . . The latest
news is that General Hooker is to cross
the river once again; his troops are dis-
heartened, but they will fight well, if only
to wipe out the mortification they now
feel. The old Twentieth was complimented
in a special order for its behavior and
bravery in the last fight. I feel as proud
as if I had fought, won, and deserved to
share its honor.

OF THE CIVIL WAR

The reports in the Northern papers of
our army affairs are not reliable. They
dupe and encourage the public by false
statements. The only paper allowed within
the lines of the army is the " Washington
Chronicle," a government organ.

May 14th, 1863.

There is no sign of movement ; the days
pass, but nothing is done. The whole army
cries for " Little Mac," who, if he returned
to-day, would be greeted with the heartiest
cheers that ever filled the air. This is the
opinion of every man in the regiment, and
they have all served under him.

The heat is intense now, and my hair is
cut so short that my head looks as if it
were trying to grow through.

May 23rd, 1863.

This morning, when riding, I came to
a ditch filled with water. My horse was
walking quite slowly, but, as he is a great
41

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

jumper, he suddenly concluded to jump
that ditch. Unluckily his feet slipped in
the mud and he went in headforemost. The
stream was deep, and such a wetting as I
got! My boots were so full of water that
I felt several inches taller, and I swallowed
mud enough to fill the ditch. My horse
tried to scramble out on his knees, but
fortunately was not hurt.

June 6th, 1863.

Yesterday morning the Confederates
disappeared from the heights of Fred-
ericksburg, after having spent the night
in burning their camps. In the afternoon,
about three o'clock, we could see and hear
tremendous firing on the left, where Gen-
eral Sedgwick crossed the river before the
last battle. I ordered my horse and rode
down there, as it was only a mile, and
found we had several batteries of field-
pieces sweeping the broad plain on the
other side of the river. When I arrived,
42

OF THE CIVIL WAR

General Sedgwick was building a bridge,
which was soon ready for his troops to
cross. Skirmishers were thrown out to
advance towards the heights, as before. I
stood just over the batteries, and when
our skirmishers took the enemy's rifle-pits,
which were all along the shore, I could
see the Confederates retreating until they
reached an abrupt chasm where the pits
ended. Into this they plunged, rushing
up its further side to reach the next line
of pits. On the rise where I was stand-
ing was planted a battery of very large
guns; while the Confederates were run-
ning through the chasm our men brought
one of these guns to bear upon them,
throwing a shell directly in their midst.
The effect was horrible, and I turned
away, unable to endure the sight.

On my return to camp I found we were
to march at sunrise. The men were sing-
ing and cheering, and the officers were in
fine spirits. Late that evening, when we
43

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

were quite ready, — knapsacks filled and
blankets rolled, — the order was revoked.
Men's faces dropped, and all swore silently
or otherwise. The whole thing may have
been a demonstration on our part to dis-
cover the whereabouts of the Confederates,
but it was awfully exasperating. They
have been threatening our right, frighten-
ing the people in Washington out of their
wits, so that possibly this apparent move-
ment of ours was intended to divert them
and draw them back. I hear that in Alex-
andria rifle-pits and trenches are dug in
the streets of the city, and every night the
planks on the long bridge which runs into
Washington are taken up.

Again I hear firing on the left, but do
not dare to leave to see the fight for fear
that orders to march may come while I
am away. I rather suspect the brigade
will be left here to guard the railroad, but
I trust not, for if there is to be a fight
we all want to share it. Our men feel

OF THE CIVIL WAR

great pride in going into battle, for they
always fight well and usually are compli-
mented by their general.

Falmouth, June 7th, 1863.

While I was writing my last letter
orders arrived to prepare to march, and
so we have been preparing ever since; but
the word " start " does not come. Night
before last the orders were that we should
have the wagons packed and ready to move
at four o'clock the next morning, which
meant turning the sick men out of the hos-
pitals and setting everybod}^ to work, but
at three o'clock A. m. a second order coun-
termanded the first. Then everything
which had been taken down had to be
put up again. Last night was a repeti-
tion of the one before.

General Sedgwick has gained a crossing
below us on the left, and has thrown one
division across the river, but they do noth-
ing but tease the enemy. The latter have
45

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

a large force of men and guns and can at
any moment drive General Sedgwick into
the water. Why General Hooker ordered
him there is a wonder to everybody, and
why the Confederates do not open fire
upon him is a still greater cause for amaze-
ment. Last night they did try the range
of their heavy guns, and in less than five
minutes obliged him. to strike all his tents
and order the men into rifle-pits.

June 15th, 1863.
At last! To-morrow we move, — for
what point I know not. Our brigade is
to cover the rear, which is a post of
honor, and, of course, we appreciate the
compliment.

OF THE CIVIL WAR

CHAPTER III

AN ACCIDENT AND ITS CONCLUSION

ON the 15th of June, at daylight,
when the march began, the heat
was frightful, and so many men
dropped from the ranks that I was inces-
santly engaged with the dead and dying,
and consequently fell farther and farther
to the rear. To prevent the enemy's cav-
alry from following the Union army, its
wake was covered with trees felled by the
rear-guard. Guerillas infested the woods
on all sides, and, realizing the danger of
being separated from the rest of the com-
mand, I mounted my horse to catch up
with the regiment. At first I tried to
jump the debris, but finding this impos-
sible, dismounted, so as to lead my horse
over the obstructions, which cut telegraph
47

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

wires rendered extremely dangerous. I
placed my foot upon one of these wires,
that the horse might more easily step over
it, instead of which she jumped, caught
her foot in the wire, slipped it from under
my boot, the wire striking her in the belly.
To free herself she kicked and struck me
in the leg. The excited animal was off in
a moment, I falling amid the brush. See-
ing the sole of my boot facing me, I knew
what had happened, — a multiple fracture.
Faintness soon crept over me, but I man-
aged to drag myself to the side of the road
before losing consciousness. From this
condition I was aroused by seeing Colonel
Macy's face bending over me, and hearing
him say, " Old fellow, your horse made
straight for the Twentieth, and knowing
something was wrong, I hunted you up."

Being well aware of the great risk the

Colonel had braved for me, I told my story

in a few words, begging him to hurry back

to the regiment and send an ambulance im-

OF THE CIVIL WAR

mediately. I very quickly found myself
lying on the floor of one, rattling over
every sort of obstruction, the mules
forced to their utmost speed to avoid cap-
ture. The suffering was intense, but we
finally reached the rear of the army and
moved along with the rest until night com-
pelled a halt.

When the mules were unharnessed and
tied to the wheels, they amused themselves
by gnawing my big military boot, which I
had slit to give room to the swelling leg;
so, what with pain and nerve exhaustion,
I felt myself in a sorry plight. As the
army continued its retreat, my only food
was hardtack, and often a piece of soft
bread picked up from the roadside. The
next day after my accident a wounded offi-
cer was placed beside me in the ambulance,
who died during the following night, and
to add to my torments, the body of this
poor man incessantly rolled over and
against me, rendering my condition abso-
4 49

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

lutely unendurable. I finally managed to
send a message by an orderly to General
Hancock, telling him of the state of
things, and asking for a pass to Washing-
ton. This the General immediately sent,
with the information that as soon as the
division struck the railroad I would receive
transportation.

The next helpful news was that a
freight car bound for Alexandria had
been found; that it was partially loaded
with shelled corn, and if I felt that it
would be possible to lie upon that, I could
be carried along. In comparison with the
floor of the ambulance and its attending
vicissitudes, the exchange seemed to my
mind simply heavenly. Later I was laid
upon the corn, the door of the car slid
back sufficiently for ventilation, and in the
fresh ease and comfort I sank into instan-
taneous sleep, so deep and profound that
my first waking consciousness was that of
absolute stillness, and the gradual realiza-
50

OF THE CIVIL WAR

tion of neither sound nor motion. When
thoroughly awake, I peered out through
the narrow opening of the door, saw that
it was daylight, that the car had been side-
tracked, and I, apparently, forgotten.

Presently I thought I heard a footstep,
though a very light one, and with all the
strength I could muster I shouted, then
raised my head to watch the effect.

Amid the cars I saw, bobbing up and
down here and there, the top of a green
parasol. Again I called, and immediately
the parasol was at the door of the car, and
under it the astonished face of a little old
woman. Where she came from, or what
her business there, I cared not, for here
was help, I was sure of that. Was this
Alexandria, and would she send to the Man-
sion House Hospital for an ambulance?
Yes, this was Alexandria, and she would
gladly do the errand herself; and so quick
was the response that I soon found myself
on a stretcher in a large vacant ward.
51

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

My poor leg was still tied up in the
army boot, which, when removed, revealed
a black and angry-looking limb. In the
one word, " gangrene," the surgeon pro-
nounced its fate, but I said "No!" —
that its appearance and condition were
due to dust, heat, and inflammation.
Nevertheless the surgeon answered, " It
is gangrene and the leg must be am-
putated!"

" It shall not be amputated," I replied;
whereupon the surgeon told me that he was
the only one who had authority there, and
so left me.

I was determined to save that leg, and
to avoid any serious conflict, felt that I
must, as it were, escape from the hospital.
I called one of the nurses to me, told the
circumstances, and asked her to find two
trusty men, whom I would pay liberally,
to carry me on my stretcher to a steam-
boat bound for Washington, This she
agreed to do; and that very evening I
52

OF THE CIVIL WAR

was carefully lifted through a window and
placed on the deck of a boat which was to
sail in the morning. I was unmolested by
captain or crew, my shoulder straps ap-
parently being sufficient guarantee for my
rights as a passenger. On arriving in
Washington, I hired men to carry me to
the Arnxy Square Hospital, where my pass
or permit was asked for; but I had none,
General Hancock's pass having been left
with the driver of the ambulance. I was
then told that without a permit I was
entitled neither to accommodation nor
rations.

" Well," was my answer, " if this is the
case, I can but write my own permit and
find my own rations, but enter I must";
and turning to my bearers, I ordered them
to carry me in, forthwith being laid in the
nearest ward, which was filled with pri-
vates. However, I was safe, and still in
possession of my leg, so what did it
matter?

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

Exhausted from pain, fatigue, and
hunger, the longing for at least a smoke
grew so intense that it seemed to bring the
opportunity. A kindly somebody brought
me a cigar, but just at that moment the
nurse who had refused to take me in ap-
peared upon the scene. " Doctor, Doctor,"
she cried, "it is against the rules to smoke
here; you must not do it! " but I quietly
puffed away at my cigar, saying, " I will
take this responsibility also." She looked
severely at me, hesitated as to the manage-
ment of this big, broken-legged man, then
with a settled countenance, and the part-
ing shot that she should " report me," hur-
ried away.

At length the door opened again to
admit the head surgeon, who entered,
followed by the irate nurse. He was a
bright, genial-looking man, who instantly
made me feel that all would be well.
" What is all this about? " he said, turning
to me; and I, patting the stretcher by my
54

OF THE CIVIL WAR

side, answered, " Sit here, Doctor, a mo-
ment, and listen."

After hearing the various experiences
through which I had passed, including my
entrance into the hospital without official
permit, the refusal of rations, and, more
than all, of a smoke, the surgeon laugh-
ingly said, " Smoke all you wish, Doctor;
make yourself as comfortable as possible
here, and as you wish to be sent home to
New York, I will see that you reach there
at the earliest moment."

A few days later, by the aid of the
Sanitary Commission and Mr. E. F. Bow-
ditch, my lifelong friend and later brother-
in-law, who in response to a telegram from
me secured a berth in a hospital car, I was
transferred to it upon a stretcher. The
jolting of the car was naturally pain-
ful to an unset limb, yet did its good work
by breaking the adhesions which of neces-
sity had formed. On our safe arrival in
New York City no ambulance could be
55

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

found, so that finally my stretcher was
placed in a covered wagon, in which I
reached home. My wife and I were
strangers in the city, and one physician
after another was called to set my poor
long-suffering leg, but each left with the
same response, " I am not a surgeon-
doctor; call this one and that." At last,
in sheer desperation, I asked my wife's
brother to find splints, plaster, and band-
ages, and we, together, set my leg with
good and permanent results.

OF THE CIVIL WAR
CHAPTER IV

THE NEW YORK RIOT

(Described by Mrs. Perry)

AFTER this experience my husband
jfj^ was laid up at home for several
weeks, waiting with keen impatience
for the time when he could return to his
regiment. This quiet period of inaction
was, however, broken by the New York
Riot, which took place in the month of
July, 1863. The disturbance was due to
the draft made necessary by the dearth of
volunteers, and also to the fear among the
Irish that the negroes at the South would
come North and crowd them out of their
work. While it lasted the foreign, and
especially the Irish, element of the city had
complete control. For more than a week
lawlessness reigned supreme, and though
57

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

our experience was far less severe than that
of many others, those who were not born
when these events took place may be in-
terested to read quotations from a letter
written by me to relatives in Boston.

New York, July 20th, 1863.

Strange to say, although we knew of the
intense excitement in the city and heard
that many of our neighbors had been up
every night, too terrified to rest, we had
no idea of personal danger.

On the first day of the riot, in the early
morning, I heard loud and continued cheers
at the head of the street, and supposed it
must be news of some great victory. In
considerable excitement I hurried down-
stairs to hear particulars, but soon found
that the shouts came from the rioters who
were on their way to work. About noon
that same day we became aware of a con-
fused roar; as it increased, I flew to the
window, and saw rushing up Lexington
58

OF THE CIVIL WAR

Avenue, within a few paces of our house,
a great mob of men, women, and children;
the men, in red working shirts, looking
fairly fiendish as they brandished clubs,
threw stones, and fired pistols. Many of
the women had babies in their arms, and
all of them were completely lawless as they
swept on.

I drew the cot upon which John was
lying, his injured leg in a plaster cast, up
to the window, and threw his military coat
over his shoulders, utterly unconscious of
the fact that if the shoulder straps had
been noticed by the rioters they would have
shot him, so blind was their fury against
the army. The mass of humanity soon
passed, setting fire to several houses quite
near us, for no other reason, we heard after-
ward, than that a policeman, whom they
suddenly saw and chased, ran inside one of
the gates, hoping to find refuge. The poor
man was almost beaten to death, and the
house, with those adjoining, burned.
59

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

At all points fires burst forth, and that
night the city was illuminated by them. I
counted from the roof of our house five
fires just about us, but our own danger in
all this tumult, strangely enough, never
crossed our minds.

The next day was a fearful one. Men,
both colored and white, were murdered
within two blocks of us, some being hung
to the nearest lamp-post, and others shot.
An army officer was walking in the street
near our house, when a rioter was seen to
kneel on the sidewalk, take aim, fire, and
kill him, then coolly start on his way un-
molested. I saw the Third Avenue street
car rails torn up by the mob. Throughout
the day there were frequent conflicts be-
tween the military and the rioters, in which
the latter were often victorious, being par-
tially organized, and well armed with vari-
ous weapons taken from the stores they had
plundered.

I passed the hours of that dreadful night
60

OF THE CIVIL WAR

listening to the bedlam about us; to the
drunken yells and coarse laughter of
rioters wandering aimlessly through the
streets, and to the shouts of a mob plun-
dering houses a block away, from which,
as we heard later, the owners barely es-
caped with their lives. I must confess that
as I lay in the darkness amid the uproar,
there was some feeling of shelter, yes, and
even rest, in having the sheet well drawn
over my head, and this with no sense of
heat or suffocation, although the mercury
stood very high.

The next morning's news was that the
rioters were murdering the colored people
wherever found, and that there was no
limit to the atrocities committed against
them. Hurrying to the kitchen, I found
our colored servants ghastly with terror,
and cautioned them to keep closely within
doors. One of them told me that she
had ventured out early that morning to
clean the front door, and that the passing
61

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

Irish, both men and women, had sworn
at her so violently, saying that she and
her like had caused all the trouble, that
she finally rushed into the house for
shelter.

Now that I began to realize our danger,
I tried with all my power to keep John
in ignorance of it, for in his absolutely
disabled condition the situation was most
distressing. The heat was intense; and
during the morning I sat in his room be-
hind closed window-shutters, continually
on the alert to catch every outside noise,
while watching the hot street below in the
glare of sunlight. On the steps of an op-
posite house I recognized a policeman,
whose usual beat was through our street,
sitting in his shirt sleeves without any sign
of uniform, looking rough and disorderly,
and talking to the strolling bands of
rioters. I wondered whether he was doing
detective service, or whether he had joined
the lawless mob. Men and women passed
62

OF THE CIVIL WAR

with all sorts of valuables taken from
plundered houses.

Later in the day a crowd of boys ar-
rived with stout sticks, threw stones at
our house, called for the " niggers," and
then rushed on. This added to my alarm,
I having heard that a rush of street arabs
always preceded an attack by the mob.
Parties of Irishmen passed and pointed to
our house, and a boy ran by shouting,
" We '11 have fun up here to-night."

My heart felt overloaded as I looked at
John in his helpless condition. What were
we to do? Even if he were able to be
moved, there was no way of accomplish-
ing it. No amount of money could hire
a conveyance; neither cars nor omnibuses
wrere running; there was absolutely noth-
ing to do but wait for events to guide us.
During these anxious hours the realization
of the meaning of personal safety grew
upon me. I saw, in looking over my past,
that I had accepted this great blessing all
63

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

my life without a moment's conscious
gratitude. If our lives were now spared
should I ever again be so unmindful?

When one of my brothers returned to
lunch and reported the increasing strength
of the mob, I told him of all I had seen
and heard during the morning, and we
considered the question of barricading the
street doors and windows, but soon decided
that it was useless. He then went to the
police station to ask for information and
help, but before leaving placed a ladder
against the wall of our back yard, so that
in case of attack the servants might, by
this means, escape to the adjoining prem-
ises, and from there to the next street. At
the police station my brother was told
that, through one of their detectives who
had been working in our street all the
morning, they had learned that their sta-
tion and also our house, with the one op-
posite, were to be attacked and burned
that night, all being in close proximity.
64

OF THE CIVIL WAR

The police had been already plundered of
most of their firearms, and needed all their
force to defend themselves. They could
do literally nothing for us, but recom-
mended barricading the front entrances
to the house as well as we could.

The afternoon wore on, and, feeling
somewhat restless from the helpless inac-
tivity at such a time, I wandered into the
different rooms of the house, looked at
our valuables, locked some in trunks,
tucked a few trinkets and a roll of bills into
my gown, and then returned to the win-
dow-seat, feeling a little weighted with
value, but better satisfied.

The city became frightfully still, and
this silence was broken only by occasional
screams and sharp reports of musketry.

By this time John knew pretty clearly
the condition of things. He had heard
the shouts in the street, and in spite of
my efforts surmised the rest. The still-
ness grew so intense that the very atmos-
5 65

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

phere seemed a part of it, for not a breath
of air stirred. As our landlord lived in
the same block with us, it occurred to my
brothers that in case of an attack we might
escape over the roofs and pass down the
skylight of his house, knowing that the
very urgency of the situation would en-
able us to carry John with us somehow;
but this privilege was refused, as the man
said it might endanger his family.

My brothers were calling at every house
in the ward to induce the occupants to meet
at the police station, armed with whatever
weapon each could find, in order to or-
ganize and patrol the streets through the
night. Meantime, our servants were in-
structed to remain downstairs, and not to
run until the house was actually attacked,
then to rush for the ladder in the back
yard; and I was to cover their retreat by
hiding the ladder.

These plans and directions seemed to me
at the time perfectly reasonable and pos-
66

OF THE CIVIL WAR

sible, but afterwards, when all was safe and
quiet, I had many a laugh over the way I
was to tear about that house while the mob
was bursting in the front door, — my hus-
band up in the third story, and I, after
pushing the negroes over the fence, scam-
pering about to hide the ladder in some
unknown place.

At ten o'clock that evening we were left
alone in absolute darkness, as the police
sent word that light would increase our
danger. John lay quietly on his cot, while
I again sat by the window to catch the
slightest sound, and in the stillness heard a
voice in the adjoining house say, " There 's
always a calm before a storm," which,
under the circumstances, was not encour-
aging; I have never forgotten the impres-
sion it made on me.

But soon our hearts were gladdened by

the sound of the patrol passing our house

at regular intervals, and although we were

in the third story from the street, the still-

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

ness was so intense that we could distinctly
hear their conversation. Suddenly rapid
pistol shots broke the spell; then came a
great rush up the avenue in the darkness,
John's voice saying* very calmly, " Here
they come." The absolute quiet within us
both at the time from its very intensity
overpowered all surface emotion. How-
ever, the noise proved to be a false alarm,
and again came the silence.

Time after time we had these shocks;
now the mob seemed almost upon us ; then
at a distance. What did it mean? Finally
the tumult seemed to culminate a block
away, and gradually we felt that, for the
time at least, our lives were safe. As soon
as the strain was over I realized how tense
had been my calm, and, as we sat together
in the darkness, I must confess to enjoying
a comfortable little weep and being much
strengthened by it. Such is — myself !

During the night my brothers returned,
and told us that just as the officers at the
68

OF THE CIVIL WAR

police station had agreed to combine with
the citizens and patrol that vicinity, a man
rushed in crying that the mob was murder-
ing some one in our street. The whole
force formed and charged up the avenue,
but met only scattered bands of rioters,
and these slunk away as the files of or-
ganized men appeared, stretching in solid
lines from sidewalk to sidewalk, as the
rioters supposed, fully armed. We heard
afterward that this steadfast army, looking
so formidable, while so feeble in reality,
was all that saved us; that our house and
the one opposite, as well as the police
station, were distinctly marked by the mob
for that night's work.

The ensuing day was still an anxious one,
but as it passed and nothing happened, we
began to feel at ease again. By this time
the city was full of troops, and finally the
riot was quelled by firing canister into the
mob. As we heard the heavy reports and
responding yells, it seemed to me that I
69

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

knew something of the horrors of war.
To-morrow the authorities continue the
draft, and I trust they will enforce it in
spite of every obstacle.

Before closing this letter, I must tell you
of some amusing things which happened
when the citizens met at the police station,
as related by my brothers on their return,
and which even then gave us all a hearty
laugh.

They told us that the meeting was a
large one, and was called to order at seven
o'clock. A vigilance committee was im-
mediately formed for mutual protection,
and a chairman and secretary selected.
Resolutions were drawn up, various plans
were proposed, and among others that of
telegraphing to Albany for muskets, — a
proposition which a man of some sense
suggested was worse than useless, as the
mob might be upon them at any moment,
reminding them also that the citizens there
collected probably knew little of firearms,
70

OF THE CIVIL WAR

so that any guns would be easily seized by
the mob and turned against themselves. It
was then decided that the citizens could best
aid the police by patrolling the streets and
reporting at the Station whenever rioters
were seen.

A motion was finally made, that in order
to know on whom to depend, a list of the
names and residences of those present
should be taken. This was done with great
formality and the loss of much valuable
time, each man signing his name, when
quite a bombshell was thrown into their
midst by the suggestion that spies might
be among them. At this the whole as-
sembly seemed to separate one from the
other, every man eying his neighbor with
sharp suspicion. The secretary, who had
been most zealous in calling the meeting,
yet whose nervousness was evidently on the
increase, suggested in a scarcely audible
voice that if the list of names just signed
should fall into the hands of the mob, the
71

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

fate of each member would undoubtedly
be sealed. Might it not be wiser, after all,
to tear it up?

Great confusion followed these remarks ;
some laughed; others scoffed; but a ter-
rified exclamation from the poor secretary
silenced all. White and shaking, he pointed
to the windows, which every one then saw
were filled with eager, listening faces. The
secretary hesitated no longer, but rushed
for the list, tore it in pieces, slammed
down the windows, locked the door, and
even turned out the lights, before the as-
tonished citizens knew what was happen-
ing. Then, when a mad rush for the door
was imminent, as the mob outside was
preferable to the suffocation and darkness
within, a great commotion was heard, —
pounding of fists on the door, and shouts to
the police that the mob was on its way
there, and murdering a man in the next
street. The confusion and excitement were
indescribable; even the secretary forgot
72

OF THE CIVIL WAR

himself. Each man seized the club which
had been provided, and soon the whole
force was marching up the avenue.

Note. My husband's leave of absence
was for ninety days; at the end of that
period, being eager to return to his regi-
ment, he left for Washington on crutches.
As nothing of importance occurred from
the time of the riot until his departure, in
September, I once more let his letters speak
for themselves.

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

CHAPTER V

RETURN TO THE ARMY

Washington, September 23rd, 1863.

HERE I am, scribbling again.
As I entered this morning the
office of the surgeon-general to
report for active service, I felt some anxi-
ety lest in my disabled condition I might
be detailed to the invalid corps, and in
consequence obliged to linger near Wash-
ington; so I hid my crutches under the
stairs outside his door, and managed with
great difficulty to walk across the room
without them.

The surgeon, after examining my leg
very critically, as if doubtful of its com-
plete recovery, said, " Are you sure, Doc-
tor, you are equal to active service? "
74

OF THE CIVIL WAR

" Yes," I answered, " I feel quite sure,"
and he allowed me to pass. I hope now to
rejoin my old comrades to-morrow after-
noon or evening.

Culpeper, September 26th, 1863.

I left Washington yesterday at ten
o'clock a. m., and, on reaching Culpeper
at five, heard that the regiment was nine
miles out in the advance. How it was to
be reached I was not informed. Having
eaten nothing since breakfast, I wandered
about the town in quest of food, and finally
struck the quarters of the Sanitary Com-
mission, where I was provided with a hearty
meal of hardtack and bitter tea.

While eating this frugal repast, Dr.
Dougherty, the medical director of our
corps, passed by, and told me the Twentieth
was under orders to march, and that the
only way I could join it would be in an
ambulance, which would pass in half an
hour on its way to the third division of our
75

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

corps, and quartered but a short distance
from our own division. I was glad enough
of this opportunity, and rode in the ambu-
lance till it reached its own camp; passed
the rest of the night lying in it, and at
daybreak started on foot for the regiment,
which, by the way, was not easy to do with
my stiff leg. But, after all, this was the
quickest way to limber it.

I arrived at noon, and the warm, hearty
greeting given me from old friends and
comrades did much to raise my drooping
spirits.

If one is obliged to go soldiering, this
camp life is delightful. The weather is
charming, our situation beautiful, and I
feel happier here than anywhere else away
from home. . . . Home! Oh, how that
word still haunts me! Yet I am calmer
now and take the situation more reason-
ably; but an awful sinking at the heart
still sweeps over me, and I can easily un-
derstand how soldiers die of homesickness.
76

OF THE CIVIL WAR

I have a very disagreeable duty to per-
form this morning, — that of tattooing a
man's breast for desertion. He is to have
his head shaved and be drummed out of
camp to-morrow. It would be better to
shoot the man than to permanently dis-
grace him, but he does not seem to mind
it much, and probably is so demoralized
that he is past feeling shame.

October 1st, 1863.

We had a drunken row in camp last
night, owing to some villain's having sold
whiskey to the men, and it was one o'clock
before the noisy ones were secured and all
became quiet. These conscripts, or rather
substitutes, behave disgracefully, deserting
at every possible chance, even to the enemy.
Notwithstanding that two who belonged to
our regiment were shot, thirty- four de-
serted immediately after. One fellow,
having failed to escape in the direction
of his home, attempted to go over to the
77

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

enemy, but was prevented. He then shot
his finger off, with the hope of being sent
to the hospital, where the opportunities for
desertion are greater, but the result is that
he will serve with one finger less.

Last night the moon was brilliant, camp-
fires blazed in every direction, and with our
blankets spread around a huge mass of
burning embers and our pipes lighted, we
lay listening to music from the bands; I,
for one, dreaming of matters and things
far enough away from where I was.

This morning I have been trying my
leg a little on horseback, and luckily man-
aged very well.

Camp at Rapidan Creek, October, 1863.
I have spread my blanket under a tree
so that I might write in the shade. The
heat is intense during the day, but the
nights are f reezingly cold, and in the early
morning my nose is as blue as steel, and
each hair stands perpendicularly. The sit-
78

OF THE CIVIL WAR

uation of the camp is so low that a thick
heavy mist overhangs it all night. My
overcoat and one blanket are lost; no one
can account for them, though they were
left on my horse, strapped to the saddle.
The only covering I have at night is a
single blanket, with a rubber one under me,
which keeps me dry but is as cold as stone.
Music is a tremendous help. Our own
band is not here, but the two other brigades
have theirs, and as the camps adjoin we
enjoy the benefit of both. One band gen-
erally plays two hours after breakfast, and
the other from sunset until half -past nine.

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

CHAPTER VI

THE MURDER OF CAPTAIN McKAY

ON the 5th of October, 1863, a hor-
rible murder occurred in the camp
of the Twentieth Massachusetts,
and as the facts concerning it extended
through many weeks, it seems well to col-
lect and give them as a whole.

Our corps was encamped in a thick wood
within a few miles of Culpeper, and its
presence could be detected only by the
clouds of smoke from camp-fires curling
above the trees. Close to our rear was a
regiment notorious for its drunken brawls
and lawlessness. It was composed prin-
cipally of conscripts, substitutes, and New
York rioters, among them many jail-birds,
and force and arms were often necessary
80

OF THE CIVIL WAR

to quell the incessant rows and disturbances
among these rough characters.

On the evening of October 5th, taps had
sounded in the Twentieth Massachusetts,
lights were out, every man was in his tent,
and the silence of the night was broken only
by the wind which swept fitfully through
the pines. Only the officer of the day and
I were in camp, the others being on a visit
to another regiment, and the soft little
glimmer of light which shone forth in the
prevailing darkness came from the tent out-
side of which Captain McKay and I were
seated. . . . The Captain had enlisted as
a private when the regiment was first or-
ganized, and by his intelligence, bravery,
and good fellowship had reached his
present rank. Company F, which he
commanded, was made up of the worst
elements in the regiment, which was other-
wise unusual for military deportment and
manly bearing.

We sat talking of the incessant delays
6 81

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

in hostilities, when a shout interrupted us,
followed by yells and drunken laughter.

" The fellows in our rear," I said, after
a moment's pause; but the Captain's face
was anxious.

" No," he answered, " those are my men;
they are drunk and quarrelsome ; something
tells me there is trouble brewing to-night;
ever since I punished the ringleaders in
those rows they have been sullen and out
of temper. In the drill this afternoon I
did not like their mood," and asking me
to stand ready in case of need, he left and
sauntered towards the company's tent.

I heard the Captain order his men to
their quarters, but in so calm a voice that
it seemed to me he dealt too gently with
the brutes; and on the instant there was a
shot and then a moan. I reached the spot
in time to see the Captain leap into the air
and fall, and to hear him cry, " Doctor, I
am murdered! "

By the flickering light of the same little
82

OF THE CIVIL WAR

candle by which we had just sat, we bore
him into the tent; but he was dead when
we reached it. Dead! A little enough
word, but with such weight of meaning!

Instantly the sergeant, then aroused, or-
dered the men of the Captain's company
into line ; the officers were sent for, and, on
their quick return, the roll was called, and
every gun examined. Every man was pres-
ent, and each had his gun, but many of
them were so drunk they could barely stand.
Those who were sufficiently sober knew that
they stood not only in the presence of a
crime, but of their murdered captain, whose
body was now stretched upon the ground
before them. Neither moon nor stars shone
upon them; no other light than the uncer-
tain glimmer of a camp-fire and tent candle,
which only added to the ghastly pallor of
the men.

During the inspection I stood by the
body, facing the lines, intently watching
every movement, alert to every sound.
83

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON'

Soon there was a murmur of astonishment,
and we saw in the ranks before us an
Italian boy, — a raw recruit, half-witted,
or at least so dull that his officers had been
able to do but little with him. There he
stood with a smoking musket. His hands
hung limply by his side, his eyes without
light or expression in them were fastened
upon his weapon. The spent cap was on
the nipple; the smoke still issued from the
muzzle and the lock was blackened by the
discharge.

We looked from the gun to the boy; he
the murderer, — he, with neither years nor
wit?

:' Tell your story," said the Major, look-
ing steadfastly into the boy's eyes, to hold,
if possible, the fellow's scattered wits.

This roused him, and throwing himself
upon his knees, with tears streaming over
his cheeks and a voice thin and stifled, he
gave, by a few words here and there, by
expression and gesture, a clear enough ac-
84

OF THE CIVIL WAR

count of all he knew, making us understand
that he had neither tent nor blanket; had
been cold and sleepy, and so, leaning his
musket against a tree near the fire, his
cartridge and cap-box beside it, dropped
to sleep at its foot. The shot roused him;
he saw some one carried off, and when he
heard the sergeant call the roll he made
a grab for his musket, but not finding it,
supposed it had fallen, and while groping
for it in the darkness he tripped over it
as it lay concealed in the bushes; then he
caught it up, suspecting nothing, and
rushed to his place in the ranks.

There was silence now; all the officers
had judged the lad, and in our own minds
felt him guiltless of the crime, but in the
absence of any other clew he must be dealt
with.

He was taken to the body, and before

all those assembled was made to kneel, kiss

the Bible, and with his left hand over the

dead man's heart, the other raised, to swear

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

before God that he was innocent of the
deed. This he did with the weariness of
a bewildered child, and, in spite of circum-
stantial evidence, the conviction of his in-
nocence was so universal that the lad was
allowed to wander to the warmth of the
still smouldering fire, where exhaustion and
sleep soon wrapped him in oblivion.

Attention was again riveted upon the
ranks. Was the murderer facing us from
among those men in line, or was he creep-
ing stealthily away through the darkness?

The officers gathered about the body of
the murdered captain, and after a brief
consultation it was decided to dismiss the
men and wait until the morning for further
action. The body was removed to a large
tent, where the sergeant and I watched over
it for the remainder of the night. The
wind moaned and whistled, things creaked
and flapped in the blasts, and in this weary
vigil even the monotonous tramp, tramp of
a sentinel outside the tent took its place in
86

OF THE CIVIL WAR

the tragedy. The night wore on, and in
the bleak and cheerless dawn all the officers
of the regiment gathered about the dead
Captain to hold a council. After long de-
liberation it was decided that the men of
Company F should march into the tent one
by one, kneel, kiss the Bible, and, with one
hand on the heart of the murdered man,
each should swear before God that he was
innocent of all implication in the crime.

In the solemn silence of this Court of
Officers, under the concentrated attention
of all present, when not the flicker of an
eyelid could escape observation, each man
faced the ordeal without flinching, with no
sign of guilt; and many bore themselves
with the dignity of honest freedom, though
in the presence of conditions before which
even an innocent heart might quail. The
experiment was a failure, and hours passed
in which all available means to discover the
assassin were fruitlessly tried. Even the
lawless men of the Captain's company were
87

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

shocked into good behavior, and in their
bearing expressed respect and love for
their dead commander. Indeed, the Cap-
tain's death has cast a deep gloom over the
entire regiment. The old Twentieth, which
has so long borne the name of " Gallant,"
now bears the burden of this stigma. We
constantly questioned ourselves and others
as to all possibilities in respect to the mur-
derer; we wondered if he were lurking in
the riotous regiment which was quartered
in our rear; but what cause had we for
such suspicions? Possibly one of the Cap-
tain's men owed him a grudge for pun-
ishment received, and had bartered the
revengeful act with one of those neigh-
boring ruffians. A reward might settle
the question, and for this purpose a sum
of money was immediately collected and
offered to any one who should give infor-
mation in regard to the murder, with the
added promise of a furlough home. As
for me, — I wish I could give the rest of
88

OF THE CIVIL WAR

my pay while in the service to have the
murderer caught and shot. I cannot re-
cover from the shock.

Just at this moment orders to march
arrived, which instantaneously changed the
scene. Tension and strain yielded to bustle
and activity.

The sergeant and I carefully watched
the placing of the Captain's body in an
ambulance bound for Alexandria, where
the remains would be embalmed before the
journey home.

My horse had been disabled by a shoul-
der wound, which I now examined with
some anxiety, lest the animal might be-
come useless during the move of the army;
but he seemed in a satisfactory condition,
and with his good services I felt sure of
holding my place in the ranks in spite of
my lame leg.

As we were about to start we saw a
stranger in officer's uniform approaching
us, who asked where he could find the
89

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

officer in command of the regiment. The
Major, who happened to be near, heard the
question, and said, " What is your busi-
ness with me? "

" I hail from the same place as the Cap-
tain who was killed last night," answered
the man. " I Ve served my time and am
on my way home, and, if you like, will
take charge of the body and see that it
arrives safely."

The Major became interested. It seemed
a most fortunate arrangement, especially in
a time of so much hurry and confusion,
and after a brief conference with the other
officers of the regiment, it was decided
that the opportunity was too good a one
to lose, and that they had better accept
an offer of such disinterested services. A
sufficient sum of money was raised to
cover all expenses, as well as to recom-
pense the man for his trouble, and the
ambulance, with its solitary burden, was
delivered into his hands to begin the long
90

OF THE CIVIL WAR

and tedious journey towards the New
England town.

The army was quickly on the move, and
for a time all went well with me, but be-
fore many hours had passed my horse
became lame, soon proving utterly unable
to carry me. In this plight I dismounted,
not a little dismayed, yet so determined to
persevere that I held to the saddle, and by
aid of the horse walked painfully on. In
spite of every effort to keep my place, I
slowly but surely receded to the rear, and
there met the ambulance which bore the
body of the dead captain; changing my
hold from the horse to the tailboard of this
ambulance, I pulled myself along.

The onward push of men and artillery,
the deafening medley of noises, the dense
clouds of blinding, suffocating dust, and
my own suffering for a time completely
absorbed me, but my thoughts finally cen-
tred upon the ambulance with its burden.
Walking by the side of the vehicle was the
91

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

Captain's friend, who, seeing that he was
recognized, joined me. He told me that
he had served his time, was sick and tired
of the life, and glad enough to go home.
The man's voice was sullen, and his head
hung forward and down.

A noise in the ambulance turned my
attention to a water-cask, which I saw had
broken loose, and was rolling over the
body.

" Fasten that cask, will you," I said to
the man at my side, "or it will injure the
Captain's body."

" D the Captain! " came like a flash

from the lips of the man; but with an in-
stantaneous glance at me he mumbled:
" Oh, what did you say, Doc? Oh, the
water-cask ! Yes, I '11 fix it " ; and he
jumped inside of the wagon and fastened
the keg in its place.

This oath, flung out in hate and scorn
from the lifelong friend and neighbor
of the Captain, was startling to say the
92

OF THE CIVIL WAR

least. I turned and looked the man well
over. The more I looked, the more I
shrank from something despicable in his
gait and aspect; a sneak, and a cowardly
bully, I '11 be bound, I thought. I would
not trust him out of sight, and, although
the man continued his desultory talk, my
heedless answers finally silenced him.

As soon as possible the circumstance was
reported to the officer in charge, but al-
though it was certainly considered suspi-
cious, there did not seem sufficient evidence
to act upon, and before long I watched
from a growing distance the ambulance,
with its single guard shambling by the
side, wending its separate way. I wish to
God, I thought, that the man was back
and well secured.

Weeks passed without trace of the mur-
derer, although the search was constant and
persistent. Warm letters of sympathy were
sent from the camp to the girl at the North
who was waiting now for the dead body
93

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

of her lover, — letters which assured her
of the safe transportation of the remains,
guarded as they were by a lifelong friend

of the Captain's, by name, who was

on his way home and had offered his
services.

More weeks passed, when one day, while
the officers were together at mess, an or-
derly handed a letter to the Major in com-
mand of the regiment.

" By Jove! " said the latter, glancing at
the postmark, " this letter is from the Cap-
tain's poor girl," and tearing it open, he
read the contents aloud. They stated that
neither the body of Captain McKay nor the
man who left the camp with it in charge
had arrived; nor would they ever do so,
for she was absolutely certain that that
man was the assassin. Some time ago she
had refused his offer of marriage and,
when he heard of her engagement to the
Captain, he swore he would kill him, if it
were necessary to enlist for the purpose.
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OF THE CIVIL WAR

Subsequently he had enlisted in a New
York regiment, from which she also knew
he was dishonorably discharged at the date
of the murder.

Consternation settled upon every face at
the conclusion of the reading. So! It
seemed that the murderer had calmly and
freely walked off with the body of his
victim! What fools he had made of us all!
And the grotesqueness of the trick the
creature had played upon us grew, and
with it grew the determination to track
that man on whatever road he might be,
and to serve him his due.

Wider interest in the matter was raised;
more funds subscribed and detectives sent
in all directions. The contents of the letter
soon spread among the men of the regi-
ment, and those concerned in the drunken
brawl on the night of the murder finally
confessed that the man who travelled from
camp with the dead captain was the same
who gave them whiskey the night he was
95

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

shot; that this man did his best to incite
them to the murder, and, when he failed in
this, grabbed the boy's gun, crouched in the
bushes, and fired the fatal shot himself.

In course of time news arrived of the
capture of the murderer in a Western regi-
ment, and that he was then on his way
back to our quarters under strict guard.
The satisfaction of officers and men was
immense, and not one would have tossed
a penny to save the wretch's life. We had
all the necessary proof, and every witness
of the deed was present.

When the man arrived, a court-martial
was immediately convened. He was tried,
convicted, and sentenced to be hanged;
but before the execution could take place
the necessary papers must be supervised in
Washington, and during this delay the
prisoner was strictly guarded night and
day.

Time crept slowly on, until eventually
an official document postmarked " Wash-
96

OF THE CIVIL WAR

ington " arrived, was handed to the officer
in command, who, in the presence of his
staff, opened it with the composure of as-
sured success; for had they not possession
of the man, and sufficient proof to hang
twenty like him?

" Read! read! " we cried, but the Major,
staring at the page, seemed barely able to
see the words, then, with a round oath, he
flung the paper upon the table.

" That man," he said, " the murderer of
our captain, is free, — scot free — as free
as a North American Indian ! A legal flaw
has been discovered in the paper sent to
Washington which renders it absolutely in-
valid. There is no redress, and nothing can
be done."

Amazement and consternation over-
powered us. Was there no loophole of
escape by which we could hold the pris-
oner and in time enforce the punishment?

No! the order to liberate the prisoner
must be immediate. This was given, and
* 97

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

erelong we saw the murderer leave the
camp, heard him jeer his would-be execu-
tioners, and, with his thumb upon his nose,
we saw him wave his fingers in derision
and vanish into mystery.

OF THE CIVIL WAR

CHAPTER VII

CAMP NEAR CULPEPER

October 9th, 1863.

WE expect to move from here any
hour. Stewart's cavalry annoys
us greatly, and I fear some fine
day, before we know it, a few hundred of
us will be gobbled up. Once we heard
horses' hoofs thundering through the
woods, the yells of their riders, and
the cry from our men, " The cavalry, the
cavalry! " followed by a sharp order to
form a hollow square. . . . Just then there
seemed no use for me, and afterward I
remembered a moment's wish to make a
hollow square of myself, then being
amused at the thought that having but one
front, the rest of me would be ridden
99

5601 22

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

down. . . . But it was all a false alarm,
for though the enemy was close upon us,
something turned them just in time to
miss our whereabouts.

This army is so demoralized by substi-
tutes and conscripts that it seems to me
it is in a critical condition. We have
drunken rows and disturbances in the
camps about us almost every night, nor
are we exempt ourselves, although since
that terrible murder the majority of the
men have behaved splendidly and are per-
fectly obedient. Every day we have as-
surances of their love and attachment to
their dead captain.

It is now eleven o'clock a. m,, and at
two p. m. a man in the division is to be
shot. The execution is to take place by
the side of our camp. All the regiments
in the division are to be present, and I
expect to be detailed as one of the sur-
geons to examine the body after it falls.
I feel too sad to write. I can bear to
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OF THE CIVIL WAR

see hundreds shot in battle, but every-
thing in me recoils from seeing a man
shot in cold blood; and if these horrible
scenes do not stop, my whole nature will
change.

The Twentieth was under arms last night,
ready, if necessary, to quell a drunken row

in the New York. The night was so

cold that I could not sleep a wink, but sat
shivering beside the fire. My hand shakes
so now with the cold, I can barely write;
yet, rough as this life is, I never was
better.

Yesterday the entire corps was ordered
to pitch tents, and at four p. m. reached
this place about a mile from Culpeper,
on the line of the railroad, where we are
to rest from duties which have been very
arduous since last June. At the old camp
we had hard picket duty; here we have
none. There we had only hardtack and
pork to eat; here we have many luxuries.
This morning, for the first time since I
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LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

joined the regiment, we had for breakfast
butter and potatoes.

While on the march we halted near an
old ice-house, the roofless cellar only re-
maining, its bottom filled with old straw.
In this cellar a ladder leaned against one
side, and, as most of these abandoned ice-
houses are homes for snakes, a fellow in
the ranks offered to bet that no one would
dare go down that ladder and trample the
straw.

Quiet reigned for a moment while each
man thought the matter over, when a little
ignorant recruit, about nineteen years old,
accepted the bet and gallantly started down
the ladder. Just as his face reached the
level of the beam which had supported the
roof, he saw lying under it a moccasin
snake, its head only a few inches from his
face. His eyes became fixed, his teeth
chattered, and his whole body was so rigid
that the men got frightened and hauled
him up by the coat collar. It was some
102

OF THE CIVIL WAR

time before he was restored to conscious-
ness, and, although unmercifully chaffed
by the men, his legs were so weak that
for the rest of the march they had to
support him.

103

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

CHAPTER VIII

THE BATTLE OF BRISTOE STATION

Brandy Station, October 12th, 1863.

WE are on the march, and while the
men are resting I will scratch a
line or two. We struck tents on
Saturday, marched some three miles to the
west of the town of Culpeper, and were
formed in line of battle in the woods, where
we remained through a terrible storm with-
out shelter or fires, in momentary expecta-
tion of an attack.

At three o'clock in the morning we were
ordered to move on. The night was of the
blackest, the streams were swollen by the
rains, and, in the dense growth of trees and
underbrush the column broke, men became
bewildered and demoralized, lost their way,
stumbled over rocks and roots, plunged into
104

OF THE CIVIL WAR

ditches and then scrambled out as best they
could, soaked with mud and water. Bon-
fires were lighted to extricate us from our
dilemma, but instead set the woods on fire.
Sparks flew in all directions, and soon
tongues of fire were everywhere. The
frightful heat, the dense smoke, and the
mad rush of men to free themselves at
any cost, made " Hell." No other word
can describe the scene. By daybreak, how-
ever, we worked our way through and
joined the main column. So much lost
time had to be made up that we could
wait neither for rest nor breakfast, and
the cold was bitter.

At nine o'clock in the morning we halted
for ten minutes to eat a little hardtack,
and then pushed on until four o'clock p.m.,
when we reached this place, and again
halted for rest and food, after a march of
thirteen hours. Knapsacks were opened,
and pork, hard bread, and coffee dealt out
in abundance.

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LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

I ate until I was satisfied, then filled my
pipe and lay down to supreme enjoyment;
and I believe no one, unless under like cir-
cumstances, could have the slightest idea
of the extent of such enjoyment, or of
the calm which stole over me after such a
night. I almost instantly fell asleep, pipe
in mouth, and waked only at midnight, —
and then from cold, — built a fire, warmed
myself, and slept again. Nevertheless, be-
fore the sun is up I have washed and
breakfasted. In a few minutes we shall
probably have orders to move.

The enemy is supposed to be trying to
cut us off from Washington, and, as
nearly as I can understand the matter, the
Confederates and the Yankees are seeing
who can march the faster. If we are first
there we shall probably avoid a battle, but
if they are first on the ground, we must
fight.

106

OF THE CIVIL WAR

Auburn, on the Banks of the Bul£

Run River, October 22nd, 1863.

Much has transpired since I last wrote.

General Lee's intention was to cut our
army in two and whip each part separately.
We marched and countermarched, pre-
pared for battle by day and made forced
marches by night. Our corps being the
rear-guard, of course we had the hardest
work, and for a week slept only one night.
While on the march I suffered so much
with my leg that it was impossible to keep
up with the regiment, although extremely
dangerous to fall behind, as guerillas were
everywhere; but, notwithstanding that we
are faced with the painful results of danger
under every form, the more we recognize
its presence the less we fear it, and the
greater is our reckless daring.

There was no proper food for men or
horses; what hardtack we had was so full
of maggots that it had to be baked, which
107

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

hardened it still more. No pork, and no
water, except what we got from the
puddles by the roadside. Men became so
exhausted that they fell asleep while
marching, and I slept while sitting in my
saddle. The nights were bitterly cold; the
roads almost impassable from the furious
rains. The enemy threatened us on all
sides, especially with their cavalry, but we
did not run foul of them until the 14th.

Unknown to us, they had cut in and
occupied the roads through which we were
to march. When we reached a defile
among the hills and were about to cross a
broad stream, a sharp fire of musketry
and artillery opened upon our brigade
from General Hill's corps. For a mo-
ment it staggered us, for we did not even
know where the attack came from, so great
was the confusion. The corps immediately
halted, formed into line of battle, and
waited for the enemy's assault, which pres-
ently came with great force. The men
108

OF THE CIVIL WAR

stood firm as rocks and poured volley after
volley into their ranks, but had a hard
time of it, and General Warren's chief of
staff, Colonel Morgan, saved the day by
his great presence of mind.

Colonel Morgan ordered our brigade
forward as skirmishers to drive the Con-
federates from the woods and take their
batteries, but our advance was much im-
peded by the stream which had first to be
crossed directly under the enemy's fire.
This stream was very deep and its banks
steep and slippery. Men fell headlong
into the water, horses rolled down the
bank backwards, carrying their riders with
them, and for a time utter chaos and con-
fusion reigned. The new recruits crouched,
and I even heard some of them scream
with fear, while the older troops and offi-
cers drove them on at the point of sword
and bayonet.

A line was finally formed on the oppo-
site bank, a charge made, and the enemy
109

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

driven back. The fight lasted about six
hours. It was the enemy's cavalry only
which took part in the engagement, or we
should not have had such an easy victory.
. . . We lay there, surrounded by the
graves of the dead, and the stench from
the battlefield was beyond expression.

When we moved it was in a thick fog.
Marching by the railroad track, we reached
an open space, intersected here and there
by low ridges, near Bristoe Station. I was
riding with General Webb at the head of
the column when, through the lifting mist,
we dimly saw another column marching
parallel with ours, and the prevailing color
in the ranks being blue, we supposed it to
be one of our own corps.1 Both columns
stopped and stared in amazement at each
other, but in a moment what had seemed
a spectral host turned about face and

1 At this period of the war blue Federal uniforms were
frequently taken from the battlefields and worn by Confed-
erate soldiers.

110

OF THE CIVIL WAR

fired a tremendous volley into us. This
was sufficient proof that we faced an
enemy.

Our men were immediately filed in line
behind an embankment, but still by the side
of the railroad. The Confederates formed
a straight and strong line of battle and
advanced upon us. We were separated
from the main army, while the enemy was
in force and in an advantageous position.
Our men were largely conscripts, who had
never seen an attacking line before. They
were ordered not to fire until the enemy
was close upon them. How would they
behave?

On came the Confederates with such
steady force and such perfect coolness that

the raw recruits of the New York

regiment could not stand the strain, and
rushed headlong, pell-mell, for the rear.
Colonel Mallon of that regiment, but who
at the time commanded the brigade, was
fortunately behind them, and, drawn
111

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

sword in hand, succeeded in stopping the
stampede.

The enemy still advanced without waver-
ing. Suddenly the order "Fire!" rang
along our lines. Hundreds of the Con-
federates dropped; others, bewildered,
rushed back, some forward, while our fel-
lows, with a wild cheer, fired volley after
volley into them. Not a man seemed to
be left standing, and they came into our
lines as prisoners by fifties, wounded and
bleeding.

Another line, still stronger, still steadier,
was formed by the enemy, but our batteries
were now run out, and shell, solid shot,
and canister were poured upon them with
marked effect. They closed and closed,
advancing in a solid mass.

Our guns again were quiet, awaiting a
nearer approach.

Colonel Mallon was at that time with
me in the rear, for, as the brigade had
made a breastwork of the railroad embank-
112

OF THE CIVIL WAR

ment, he could not be in front; and we
were lying side by side, flat on the ground,
so as to be out of range of the enemy's
guns, when the colonel, who was very fond
of Major Abbott, said he must take a look
round and see if he were safe. I begged
him not to, saying that he would surely be
shot, but he answered, " No, I cannot stand
the suspense, and it will take but a mo-
ment"; whereupon he rose, and was in-
stantly shot through the abdomen.

I dragged him to a little muddy stream,
— the only place of safety, — where the
poor fellow lay with the water almost run-
ning down his throat. He lived until the
fight was almost over, and finally expired
in my arms. He was just married.

The fight continued until dark, the
enemy throwing out line after line up to
that time. I was busy enough after the
battle was over, and came within an ace
of being taken prisoner, but Johnny Reb
did not catch me that time.
s 113

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

The prisoners told us that, notwithstand-
ing this success of ours, we could not es-
cape, as General Ewell had passed up on
our left and was surrounding us; but in
spite of this on we marched, all through
that night, without a halt, worn out as we
were. I cannot express the torture I en-
dured, in trying to keep my eyes open. I
believe I rode for miles in a sound sleep.

At dawn we joined the main army in
the fortifications here at Auburn, border-
ing the Bull Run River. The day's work
had been a most signal victory, and our
brigade had captured five guns and two
colors. A company of sharpshooters at-
tached to the regiment did splendid work.
They killed the enemy's gunners and then
bodily mounted the guns, from which
points of vantage they picked off any one
who approached them. A corporal com-
manding them reported to General War-
ren the capture of the guns, and asked
assistance in taking them off. The gen-
114

OF THE CIVIL WAR

eral detailed a certain number of men
from each regiment for that duty, and
thereby claimed that the corps took the
guns instead of giving credit where it was
due, — to the sharpshooters. General
Webb, however, who commanded our divi-
sion, and who, by the way, behaved most
gallantly, issued a special order compli-
menting the sharpshooters for their ser-
vices.

At the beginning of the fight I owned
two horses; one of which, old Bessie, being
lame, I used for a pack horse, the other I
rode. On the former were my blankets,
overcoat, tobacco, wash-basin; in fact,
everything except my valise, which, fortu-
nately, was in the wagon-train. When the
fight began I ordered my servant, who had
charge of Bessie, to take her to a place
of safety, but before going far a ball
struck her in the leg. She broke away
from the man and ran to the front, where
she was shot again, this time in the neck.
115

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

Our cook, Eraser, was at the rear during
the fight, and seeing a loose horse running
wildly about, tried to catch her, but only
succeeded in grabbing a haversack which
was swinging from the saddle. He did
not recognize the animal, but on opening
the haversack saw a little book with my
name on the title-page, and as soon as
possible brought it to me. When I took
the little book from Fraser's hands, saw
it was safe, and found the written words
still within its pages, I — well, I wished
for an instant I was alone. That little
book has weathered so much! When all
else I had was soaked with rain the little
volume was always dry. To-day I took it
from my breastpocket before the fight and
for safer keeping put it in the haversack,
fearing in the great heat to have it so near
my person, and also that with my case of
instruments both together would weigh me
down.

Later I went to the rear, and, dismount-
116

OF THE CIVIL WAR

ing, gave my horse to one of General
AVebb's orderlies to hold while I attended
to the wounded. When my duties were
over I looked for my horse, but the man
told me that a piece of shell must have
struck her, for she reared and plunged so
he was forced to let her go. On the march
that night I was without either horse, coat
or blanket, and trudged along as best I
could, until finally the adjutant gave me
his mount. This morning I have old Bessie
again. When passing General Webb's
headquarters I saw her standing, tied to
a tree, and was told that she had been
caught by an orderly. She is doing well,
and will recover from her wounds. The
other horse I have not yet heard from.

We are all fagged and worn out, half
starved, and poorly clad. Possibly we may
remain quiet long enough to have some
good hardtack, pork, and coffee, and, above
all, fresh water. I can eat almost anything,
but clean water is a necessity. We break-
117

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

fasted yesterday on nothing but raw cab-
bage, yet, although I have been sleeping in
the mud in clothes sopping wet, I am per-
fectly well.

Have you seen in the papers that Gen-
eral Meade complimented our corps? He
said that it saved the whole army at the
battle of Bristoe Station.

118

OF THE CIVIL WAR

CHAPTER IX

MARCHING AND COUNTER- MARCHING

Camp near Warrenton,

October 25th, 1863.

WE do not stay long in one place,
but go marching on. We have
stopped here only temporarily;
yesterday it rained so hard, and our sup-
plies are so far gone, that we cannot move
again for at least twenty-four hours, for
the men have had literally almost nothing
to eat. The supper last night for our own
mess consisted of maggoty hard bread and
brown sugar (alias sand).

We are encamped on the slope of a hill,
just under the Blue Ridge, surrounded by
thick forests. The other regiments are
encamped in the woods facing us, and the
music of the bands, which play in every
119

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

direction, just fills my soul. With what?
Why, with the inexpressible.

To-day I inspected the rations of the
men, and have already condemned about
a thousand pounds of hardtack.

October 28th, 1863.

We have had marching orders for forty-
eight hours now, and been told we are going
to the front to fight, but have not moved
yet. Yesterday our orders were to pack up,
and we have been packing up ever since,
making ourselves very miserable and un-
comfortable.

Our food is disgusting, — poor hard
bread and brown sugar. The teams of sup-
plies are not allowed to come up to us,
which seems unnecessary and unwarrant-
able. Worst of all, we are even without
tobacco. This morning I was sitting in the
quartermaster's big wall tent watching the
loading of a team with boxes of hardtack,
when under one of the boxes before me,
which a man was about tossing to his
120

OF THE CIVIL WAR

shoulder, I saw a copperhead snake, which
instantly coiled and struck the fellow's leg
just above the boot, and the man pitched
headlong, as if from the blow of a hammer.
With my penknife I immediately cut
around the spot where the fang of the rep-
tile had penetrated, which was plainly visi-
ble, then cauterized the wound thoroughly.
Neither of these processes caused suffering,
as the blow seemed to have paralyzed the
sensitive nerves. The man passed into a
dead faint, and was carried on a stretcher
to the hospital tent. I hope that but little
poison entered his system, as the tooth first
passed through his trousers, then through
thick woollen stockings, — but his tempera-
ture is now very high.1

Rappahannock Station,

November 9th, 1863.
We have been marching during the last
two days, so that I have been unable to

i The man finally recovered but came very near losing his
life.

121

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

write. Now, while waiting for further
orders, I will scratch a few lines to say that
we have crossed the Rappahannock not-
withstanding that the enemy was so
strongly entrenched. General Sedgwick's
corps was the only one which had any
fighting to do, and it did not amount to
much.

We crossed at Kelly's Ford without
opposition, as we captured the whole Con-
federate force guarding it. Not a gun
has yet been fired by our division. The
rumor is that General Butler is marching
up the peninsula to Richmond, and that
we are keeping General Lee and his force
here to prevent his attacking. I doubt
very much if we have much righting, —
doubt if General Meade means anything
more than to prevent General Lee from
sending away any more troops. Shall
always keep sealed letters in my pocket
to send when opportunity offers, for we
are now cut off from communications.
122

OF. THE CIVIL WAR

Mountain Run,
November 11th, 1863.

On the 9th we had quite a little snow-
storm, and yesterday, when on the march,
the snow-covered " Blue Hills " towered
above us, their icy cliffs illuminated by
the sun's rays into every enchanting
color. We have ice now every night,
and last night it froze nearly two inches
thick.

I have been working hard to-day, pitch-
ing my tent upon a log foundation. It
will be warmer, and will allow me to sit
up. To-morrow I shall build an under-
ground fireplace, for the wind blows so
hard here in the winter that it is impos-
sible to keep warm by an outside fire, for
while your front is warming your back is
freezing, and if the fire is very near the
tent, the smoke blows in and smothers you.
My eyes are now almost put out by the
smoke; my hands are covered with pitch
123

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

from handling pine logs; my feet are
soaking wet ; and I am cross.

We are encamped on soil so saturated
with water that I sent a protest to General
Warren to-day asking him if we could not
move to a drier spot, but he answered that
we should have to go several miles to find
such, and that, of course, was impossible.
We are evidently to remain here for the
winter.

I have had the whole regiment out to-day,
cutting down trees to let the sun in, and
digging trenches to drain the water off, but
as it is only necessary to dig a few inches
to come upon more water, the task is rather
a hopeless one. This winter I mean to
build a gymnasium for the men to exer-
cise in when it is too cold and stormy for
drilling. The officers are interested in the
plan, and already we fence, box, and exer-
cise every day, and feel much better for it.

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OF THE CIVIL WAR

November 13th, 1863.

I have just returned from a ride of
over twenty miles on horseback at break-
neck speed through woods and over
rough, rocky country. I had to go to
General Meade's headquarters on business,
so started at reveille this morning, and it
is now ten o'clock p. m. I enjoyed it im-
mensely; was treated very hospitably, and
had quite a long conversation with General
Meade.

On the way back I fell in with an officer
on General Warren's staff, and while rid-
ing through the woods we suddenly came
upon two men dressed in Confederate
clothes. We stopped and inquired of them
where they belonged. They gave evasive
answers, and while we were talking one
of them, having scanned us and seen no
arms, attempted to escape. Fortunately,
I had my revolver, and on presenting it
cocked at his head, he halted and gave
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LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

himself up. We took them both to head-
quarters.

I am interested in trying to improve
the present plan for ventilating regimental
hospitals in winter. I think, instead of
having stoves, I will build fireplaces of
sticks and clay, modelled after some I saw
in a Confederate camp.

November 15th, 1863.

I wrote you, I think, of the wet, boggy
ground we are encamped on. Last night
it rained in torrents, and in five minutes
the bottom of my tent held one or two
inches of water. My couch is made of
leaves packed between two logs, and by
nine o'clock the water became so deep that
it ran over the logs into the bed, and on
waking I found myself perfectly drenched
and everything I owned in the same con-
dition. My valise had been left open, and
its contents were almost ruined; letters,
pictures, clothing, — all were soaked. How-
126

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<

OF THE CIVIL WAR

ever, there was one little picture and one
little book in a closed box by themselves,
and their safety made the ruin of the
rest seem as nothing.

Mountain Run,
November 20th, 1863.

We expect to march to-morrow, where,
I know not; but what I do know is that
to-night rations are being issued to the
men, and that we are looking for an or-
derly to ride up any moment with orders
to march at daylight. ... I don't much
care for this packing at midnight and
starting in the gray of dawn, — likely as
not after neither sleep nor breakfast.

This morning several of us went to see
a review of the Sixth corps by invitation
of General Sedgwick, commanding. It
was a magnificent display. The Sixth is
a very large corps, and probably contains
18,000 men. Every officer was in full
uniform, every man well brushed and pol-
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LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

ished ; the bands played well, and the whole
thing was superb.

General Sedgwick held the review in
honor of some British officers who are visit-
ing the army, and after inspecting the
troops, all the invited guests repaired to
the general's headquarters, where a fine
dinner was served. We enjoyed the oc-
casion hugely.

Mountain Run,

November 21st, 1863.

Here we are still, with rumors of move-
ments in plenty, but with no start. This
morning we had a general inspection of the
men, camp, and hospital, by the inspector-
general of the corps. On leaving, the gen-
eral remarked that " the Twentieth was the
finest regiment in the Potomac army for
cleanliness, discipline, and fighting! " How
is that for the old Twentieth?

We are perfectly deluged with rain, and
my tent, raised on logs, has a deep pool of
water around it.

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OF. THE CIVIL WAR

The colonel has just taken supper with
me on my little rustic table. Our supper
consisted of coffee in one cup, brown sugar,
and hard bread. The colonel used his right
hand in drinking and I my left, so that
our lips touched different sides of the cup.
Our repast was delicious. First we soaked
the hard bread in coffee, then toasted it
over the coals, and when it was hot and
brown we spread it with melted brown
sugar.

Next Thursday will be Thanksgiving
Day. How I wish our men could have
something extra to eat, poor fellows!
They have had potatoes only about a
dozen times since last June, and are be-
coming badly run down. We have received
from one of our officers now at the North
a quantity of raisins, flour, pickles, etc.,
for their Thanksgiving dinner, and we also
have permission to send to Washington for
more supplies. We officers do not need
these extras, as our pay enables us to buy
9 129

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

pickles and such things to prevent scurvy,

but the men have not the money for

luxuries.

November 25th, 1863.

I did not expect to write again from
this camp, but fate will have it so.

Night before last orders came to march at
daylight. No fires could be lighted, and
preparations were to be made in the strict-
est silence. A northeast storm was blow-
ing, a drizzly rain falling, and everything
was cold and cheerless. With the excep-
tion of one hour, when I took a hurried
nap, I was up throughout the night pre-
paring the sick and disabled for the move,
and at five o'clock a. m., without coffee or
anything to eat except wet hard bread, we
started off. Rumor said we were bound
for the Rapidan and Richmond.

It rained — oh, how it rained! We

marched about half a mile through bog

and mud, when we came upon a battery

of the artillery stuck fast. To go on

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OF THE CIVIL WAR

seemed to all of us an impossibility, and
while we halted, waiting to extricate the
cannon, orders came to return to old quar-
ters and again encamp. A cheer rose from
every throat, and most fortunate it was, I
think, that we did return, for the rain con-
tinued during the day and all of the fol-
lowing night. When we reached the old
camp I bailed out my little enclosure as
one would bail out a leaky boat.

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LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

CHAPTER X

THE OTHER SIDE OF GERMAXXIA FORD

December 3rd, 1863.

WHEX I last wrote we were wishing
ourselves home for Thanksgiv-
ing, but as that was impossible,
we resolved to do the best we could here,
and so determined to have a plum pudding,
at least. Two days were spent building
an oven in which to bake it, and when
everything was ready the night before the
important day, I think it would have been
impossible for any one under other circum-
stances to realize our intense anticipation
of the coming feast.

Alas ! That same night at twelve o'clock

we were ordered to march at daylight, and

on the very morning of Thanksgiving Day

flour and raisins were thrown away, and

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OF THE CIVIL WAR

we went trudging on with thousands of
other poor devils. It is a strange provi-
sion of nature that when one is very
hungry the longing for a promised morsel
assumes such proportions that it seems for
a time to take possession of the whole of
one's being. I am quite certain that on
this march each man in the regiment was
so completely absorbed in his disappoint-
ment that for many miles it was to him
the only source of discomfort.

We crossed the Rapidan River unmo-
lested by the enemy, but soon after came
upon their fortified position. The Second
corps was sent to the left some twenty
miles to flank this position, and the second
division of that corps was chosen to storm
the fortifications if the enemy were found
to be concentrated. The Confederates were
in strong force, and on heights surrounded
by earthworks and rifle-pits which covered
every approach. The situation seemed im-
pregnable ; the attempt to take it would de-
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LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

mand such a sacrifice of life that the idea
was abandoned, the whole plan given up,
and at dark the retreat commenced and
continued until each corps and division ar-
rived at the old camping-ground from
which it had started.

The next morning we were again on the
march, when, after we had gone about a
mile and were on an open plain, the troops
were massed, and a telegram from Gen-
eral Grant was read, announcing his vic-
tory over Bragg. This was a great
encouragement to all, and after some
hearty cheers we resumed our march with
renewed heart and spirit. The morning
was clear and cold, the roads frozen, and
the men in splendid condition.

About noon we reached the Germannia
Ford on the Rapidan, where we waited
some three or four hours while the cavalry
reconnoitred and the engineers laid the
pontoon-bridge. While crossing this pon-
toon-bridge the brigade surgeon gave us
134

OF THE CIVIL WAR

all a good laugh. He rode his old red
horse, whose ugly temper was known far
and near. This horse was a lop-eared, long-
shanked, cross-grained beast, always bent
upon doing the unexpected. With ears
laid back and head run out, ready to let
fly fore and aft, he generally cleared his
way by biting and kicking. In this case,
as usual, he chose the most inconvenient
spot for fooling, and in the middle of the
bridge scattered men and horses to the
right and left, seemingly determined to
jump into the river. The doctor, somewhat
ruffled by his antics, said, "Well, if you
want a bath, take it!" and, suiting the
action to the word, both horse and rider
plunged into the stream. The men broke
out into hearty cheers and roars of laugh-
ter as they watched the horse swim gal-
lantly, bearing his dripping rider to the
shore, where he quietly climbed the bank,
a subdued and docile animal.

We camped that night on the heights on
135

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

the further side of the river, and at three
o'clock the next morning the advance was
sounded. On we went at a double-quick
for nearly two hours by a road which ran
through a thick forest. About one o'clock
we heard firing in front, and the column
was halted and ordered to load. Again
we pushed on " double-quick," while the
firing in front increased; then artillery
began to boom, and finally we reached an
open plain, where skirmishers were thrown
out, and the main column was formed in
line of battle with reserves in the rear.
The men advanced, drawn up in fighting
array, under a heavy fire from the Con-
federates, who were concealed in a thick
wood in front. On reaching this wood,
our skirmishers having driven the enemy's
skirmishers back, we were halted behind a
piece of rising ground to support a bat-
tery which was placed so as to sweep the
thicket in case the enemy appeared in
front. Skirmishing continued through the
136

OF THE CIVIL WAR

remainder of the day, and in our regiment
two men were wrounded while lying under
the hill. The weather was fearfully cold
and raw, no fires could be lighted, and we
lay on the ground shivering and freezing.
At dark the Twentieth was sent out on
picket duty to relieve the others who had
been fighting all day. We passed a quiet
night as to firing, both parties taking rest
for the coming action.

The next morning the order to advance
was given, and we formed in line of battle,
with the Twentieth thrown forward as skir-
mishers. Away we went, sweeping through
the woods in thick underbrush, over high
rocks, through streams, but driving the
Confederates back at every step. About
ten o'clock the enemy's skirmishers were
pushed to a hill, on the top of which was
their main position, covered by earthworks
and batteries, and for the rest of the day
the skirmishers on both sides kept up a hot
fire. Two of the sharpshooters in the Twen-
137

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

tieth were wounded. Rain drenched us to
the skin, and we had been without food
all day.

At dark the regiment was ordered to the
rear, still in line of battle. Again no fires
were allowed, so of course we were not
warmed with hot coffee, and, after nib-
bling a little hardtack, we rolled ourselves
in our blankets and fell asleep, worn out
with hunger, cold, and exhaustion.

The next morning at three o'clock Gen-
eral Warren took the Second corps, with
one division from the Sixth, on a detour
around the Confederate position, so as to
reach its right flank. There he was to form
a line of battle, and at eight o'clock open
the attack by charging the enemy's works,
after which the whole line, some seven or
eight miles long, was to make a general
assault.

We struck off on a side road leading
to Orange Courthouse. The morning was
cold and rainy, the roads in a frightful
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OF THE CIVIL WAR

condition, and a wearying time we had of
it. I doubt if our ancestors at Valley
Forge suffered more from cold than we
did, I generally marched on foot so as to
keep warm, and often found that I had
been sound asleep while my legs were
trudging along. Our horses became ex-
hausted, having had neither grain nor hay
since we began the march, and finally they
gnawed each other's tails, or anything they
could get hold of. Some of them ate the
bark of the trees, and one horse in our
pack devoured a whole grain bag with
seeming relish. I fed my poor old Bessie
on hardtack and salt pork.

About ten o'clock the sun came out, and
in order not to be seen by the enemy, we
had to break our way through the woods
and underbrush, which tore everything to
pieces, — clothes, blankets, and panniers.
After marching some seven miles, we again
struck the road, and the moment we did
this the Confederates, masked by the woods
139

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

on the right, opened fire upon us. We
were stunned by the unexpected attack, and
perfect chaos reigned for a few minutes.
Orderlies galloped up and down bearing
orders, yet nobody knew what to do.

General Warren sent word to General
Webb to deploy the best regiment he had
in his division as skirmishers, and the gen-
eral at once replied, " I send the Twentieth
Massachusetts." The result was that with-
out firing a shot our regiment forced the
Confederates back into their fortifications.
General Webb said afterwards, " The
Twentieth has again covered itself with
glory " ; and he actually apologized for
sending it out on such a duty, but said the
necessity of driving the enemy back into
their works was absolute, and he knew the
Twentieth would do it.

A desultory fire from both sides con-
tinued until night set in. Great bravery
was displayed by our officers. Colonel
Macy, with his one hand, rode about under
140

OF THE CIVIL WAR

fire as if the whole thing were a game of
" puss-in-the-corner," and little Abbott
rushed his men to the fight with immense
spirit. The night passed quietly, but we
felt that the great struggle must come on
the following day.

At midnight our division was moved still
farther to the left, and placed in position
for a charge the next morning. The Con-
federate entrenchments could be seen by
the light of the fires on the heights behind
their fortifications, and the general effect
by moonlight was that of a fortified citadel
some two or three hundred feet above us,
surrounded by bristling batteries. During
the night five lines of battle were formed
on our side. The first one was made up
of poor, inexperienced regiments, and the
second of old well-tried veterans, including
the Nineteenth and Twentieth Massachu-
setts and the Seventh Michigan regiments.
The hardest duty was given to the Twen-
tieth, which was ordered to advance up
141

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

the hill about three-quarters of a mile
without cover, the regiment of raw re-
cruits, who were pretty sure to be panic-
stricken, in front, and both of them ex-
posed for all this distance to the fire of
the Confederate batteries, which would be
throwing grape, canister, and solid shot
into the ranks, not to mention the deadly
work of two tiers of rifle-pits filled three
deep with infantry. The other regiments
on the line were protected by thick woods,
and consequently not exposed to any great
amount of fire until they quite reached the
enemy's works.

All the troops were in position about two
o'clock, when the moon was brilliant, but
the night one of the coldest I had known.
We stood on boggy soil, the water freez-
ing under our feet; and of course to lie
down was impossible; besides, we were
ignorant of what might occur at any
moment.

At about seven o'clock communication
142

OF THE CIVIL WAR

on the right was established with the main
army; then came orders that a charge all
along the line would be made at eight
o'clock, and the signal for this charge
would be the firing of a gun on the right
of the line. Just before eight o'clock the
commander of our division, General Webb,
addressed the men as they stood in posi-
tion, and some of his words I can never
forget. He said: " I know that what you
are called upon to do is desperate, and I
also know that every man of you will fulfil
his duty. I do not expect the first line to
reach the works, but the second line must;
and the third line is to enter and capture
them. Boys, remember that I shall always
be in your front."

The men well knew the truth of these
words, and some of them even had the
heart to applaud; but the general had
strictly ordered, "No noise!" and indeed
the prevailing feeling was too intense for
demonstration. The men then came to me
143

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

in numbers, asking me to take charge of
watches and personal effects, and to de-
liver messages to friends at home, of which
I made careful memoranda, and begging
me to promise to send everything to their
families if they were killed.

Eight o'clock came. The men stood
nerved for action; their faces stern,
strained, every sense in suspense to catch
the one sound of that signal-gun. But it
did not come. Eight-fifteen passed — no
signal ; eight-thirty — nine — ten ! The
strain was awful! What was the matter?
Why was not some explanation given?
Then rumors reached us that the assault
was to be abandoned, and by four o'clock
that afternoon one man, exhausted by
hunger and excitement, had the courage
to lie down; at once others followed, till
finally they lay like rows of bricks, each
trying to screen himself behind his fellow
from the pitiless cold. At dusk fires were
lighted in the woods at the rear, that the
1U

OF THE CIVIL WAR

enemy might suppose we were bivouacking
for the night, and men were detailed to
feed these fires, while the rest were or-
dered to retreat in column along the turn-
pike, across the river, back whence we
started.

On either side of the turnpike the woods
had been fired to prevent an attack on
our flank. We marched through fire and
smoke, our eyes blinded, throats parched,
stomachs empty, and limbs half frozen.
AH* night we marched, and not until long
after sunrise did we reach safety beyond
the river. There we received orders to
return to our old camping-ground, but
some humane soul, probably General
Webb, asked for one hour's halt for rest
and food. One hour's rest was granted,
but no food was given out.

At the end of that one hour I awoke,

and beheld a sight never to be forgotten.

Not a man, not a horse, was standing. So

deep down and so profound was the sleep

10 145

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

that the stillness was that of death. SucK
was the exhaustion of all that every man
who had a horse slept at his side with reins
in hand.

Before the troops were fully roused the
provision wagons arrived, and the men were
so famished that any regular distribution
of rations was impossible. Fighting their
way, they seized and rifled the wagons, de-
vouring what they secured like so many
wild animals.

Again we marched, finally reaching our
old camp, worn and footsore.

146

OF THE CIVIL WAR

CHAPTER XI

CAMP AT STEVENSBURG, VA.

Stevensburg,
December 6th, 1863.

HERE we are, shuffled into a cold
and cheerless camp, with neither
protection from the wind nor wood
to build fires with. Possibly these quarters
may be permanent, though why we should
be way down here in the front I do not
understand.

We left our last camp yesterday morn-
ing, and are now four miles nearer the
Rapidan than before. We were not al-
lowed to pitch tents until dark, when it
was too late to make ourselves warm for
the night ; and about midnight an icy wind
sprang up, forcing us all to run about, that
we might not freeze. I am now lying be-
147

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

hind the trunk of an old tree for shelter,
with my fingers so stiff that I can barely
hold my pen.

I see by the Northern papers that this
army is called " demoralized," " full of
copperheads," and " fit only for observa-
tion work." This is because we did not
give battle the other day, when we found
the Confederates in their entrenched posi-
tion. I wish such newspaper grumblers
could be sent down here and put into the
front ranks, when I rather think things
would be seen in a different light.

December 7th, 1863.

Last night about midnight news came
that a mail had arrived which was too large
to be distributed until morning. Tired,
even exhausted, as I was, the thought of
a near letter which I knew was in that bag
for me prevented the possibility of sleep.
I soon found Macy was under the same
restlessness as I, and we quickly agreed to
148

OF THE CIVIL WAR

saddle our horses, ride to brigade head-
quarters, get the mail, and distribute it
ourselves.

Off we went, found the mail, of many-
days' accumulation, threw it across the
saddle, and rode home in high glee. I had
no question as to the contents of that mail-
bag; I knew my letter was there, beside
many others for me. On our return we
took the bag into Macy's tent, where, ex-
cepting for the very audible snores about
us, there was silence.

I sat on the floor, placed a candle be-
tween my feet, and with a freshly lighted
pipe went happily to work. A whole hour
passed ; the last letter was in my hand, and
not a single one for me. Macy had four.
I felt wicked, then distressed, and then
really sick with disappointment, and so,
finally, turned in. This morning I dis-
covered that the whole mail had not ar-
rived last night; that the rest was on its
way; and before noon the best letter I
149

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

had ever received was in my hand. There
were others, too.

We complained so much of our situation
here that yesterday the camp was moved
to a hillside facing south, where we can
at least escape the fearful northers which
blow here so tempestuously through the
winter. For the last six weeks I have not
known the feeling of warmth, especially
at night. The ground upon which I sleep
is so cold that it seems as if two feather
beds, at least, would be necessary between
me and the earth to make me really com-
fortable. But as things are, I have a bag
made of one double army blanket, into
which I let myself down, placing an India
rubber blanket under me. Although the
latter is the coldest thing in the world, it
keeps the moisture out, and, in spite of
everything, I am in splendid condition.

150

j&£ %»

■ 9

1 i! I i m

OF THE CIVIL WAR

December 10th, 1863.
We hear that the Government offers
thirty days' furlough to old regiments
when two-thirds of their men re-enlist.
The bounties are so large and the offer
so liberal that the chances are good for
keeping the regiments up to a proper
standard. Officers can re-enlist or not, as
they choose. In their case no difference
is made, but if two-thirds of the men re-
enlist the whole regiment goes home, offi-
cers and all, to reorganize.

December 14th, 1863.
The need of wood in this place is so
great that to remain much longer seems
impossible, and yet we are building log
tents as if for winter quarters. It is a
miserable situation in many ways, and the
food we have, if for a permanency, is not
suitable. I breakfasted this morning on
hardtack and coffee; then at noon we
151

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

dined on boiled beef, without the slightest
seasoning of either salt or pepper. Even
the water we bathe in, and wash our teeth
with, must be left standing for half an
hour before using, that the dirt in it may
settle; and this same water is all we have
for our coffee. Every day the wind blows
a gale, and to-day it seems as if the tents
would be blown to rags. This morning I
put my fire out, for fear my tent would
be blown over and set on fire.

Harry Abbott has gone home for a
furlough; also Uncle Nathan, as we call
Surgeon Hayward, and I confess the camp
is desolate without them. However, Macy
is here, and I am fond of him.

December 20th, 1863.

It is Sunday, and our camp wears an
appearance, I suppose it might be said,
appropriate to the day. Everywhere there
is silence and monotony. The white can-
vas tents look cold and cheerless in the
152

OF THE CIVIL WAR

winter atmosphere, and the only human
being outside, beside myself, is the senti-
nel, pacing up and down, up and down.
There is one little suggestion of comfort
and coziness, and that is the blue smoke
curling up from the mud chimneys of the
huts built all about, which look, but for
this, like prairie dog mounds. However,
in a few moments everything will change,
for the drums will beat, and the men march
to their Sunday inspection, heavily laden
with knapsacks and muskets.

I dread the long, weary weeks which
must be passed before the spring cam-
paign opens. I study all that I can, but
the need of various books makes me rest-
less. In Doctor Hayward's absence I have
been acting as chief surgeon of the bri-
gade, with the care of five regiments, so
that is not being idle, at any rate.

153

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

December 27th, 1863.

It is raining and blowing fearfully, but
I am snug and dry under my canvas shel-
ter, where, in a little space ten feet square,
is combined bedroom, sitting-room, and
office; for I am still living in a tent, as
I cannot find sufficient wood to build a
hut. It is dull enough, with nothing to
do and nothing new to hear. I spend
hours alone in my tent, thinking of the
future ; questioning and answering myself.
This seems to me a desert that I am now
passing through, which must be crossed
before I can dream of home; before an
earned contentment would satisfy me to
settle down to practise my profession.

January 1st, 1864.

To-night is the coldest night we have had

yet, and the wind blows so that the fire

will not burn. Poor Bond has turned in

with all his clothes and overcoat on. I

154.

OF THE CIVIL WAR

have not undressed, excepting to bathe,
since being in this camp; but I am as
tough as iron.

To-day Macy and I were invited by
General Webb, commanding our division,
and General Hancock, commanding our
corps, to call upon them and drink to the
success of the Army of the Potomac.
General Hancock was wounded at Gettys-
burg, and has just now sufficiently recov-
ered to take command again. I had a
delightful time, and dined with General
Webb.

Did you see the puff about the Twen-
tieth in the Boston " Advertiser? " It was

excellent.

January 15th, 1864.

I am out on picket duty, as the surgeon
detailed for the work is ill. General Han-
cock has forbidden covers or fires at the
outposts, and consequently half of the
men from the picket line come back ill, as
they are exposed to the inclemency of the
155

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

weather for three days at a time. There
is nothing in the world to do here, and at
night we have to lie on the snow and try-
to sleep, frozen almost to death. The cold
has been most unusual this winter. The
hardest battles I have fought since joining
the army have been with myself. Some
time I hope to conquer — much? Yes,
well-nigh everything!

January 24th, 1864.

Last Thursday, as the adjutant was ab-
sent, I was asked to conduct dress parade
in his place. Abbott tells me that I did
not make a single mistake, — pretty good
for this old boy!

The building of a bathing-house has in-
terested me, and by to-night every man in
the regiment will have had a bath, which,
I trust, will diminish the number on the
sick-list.

I endure the incarceration (for to me
no other word will answer) of camp life
156

OF THE CIVIL WAR

with what fortitude I can, but this forti-
tude is only due to the little iron crook —
hope — which is always with me.

The nights now are brilliant with moon-
light and wonderfully beautiful. Last
night I could not remain in my tent and
lose all the beauty outside, so ordered my
horse saddled and started off alone. For
about an hour I enjoyed it hugely; but
on my return, got into a bog which thor-
oughly wet me, and from that moment my
ardor was so dampened that I forgot there
had ever been a moon.

February 7th, 1864.
Harry Abbott returned last night from
his furlough, and Wendell Holmes, Jr.,
with him. It seemed strange enough to
hear them talk of Boston affairs, balls,
and such like. Wendell is very blue, and
sits over the fire, shivering. It is an awful
strain to jump from every comfort into
this rough life. Last night we bundled
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LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

him up in buffaloes, blankets, overcoats,

and tents; yet he suffered and could not

sleep. Air-tight houses and furnace heat

unfits one for this sort of thing. It is,

of course, much colder at the North than

here, but it is the dampness of the cold

in this locality which pierces to the very

marrow.

February 15th, 1864.

One day's routine is much like another,
varied only by storm or sunshine. Yester-
day the monotony was relieved by a cav-
alry review. There were six thousand
horsemen, commanded by General Pleas-
anton, who manoeuvred them on an open
plain large enough to hold ten thousand
more, and the sight was grand and im-
posing, — a tremendous exhibition of force
in reserve.

You can have no idea of the bitter cold
of the last few days. Even the pail of
water for bathing, which I set in the fire-
place, freezes ! The ink in my pen freezes
158

OF THE CIVIL WAR

as I write. Last night, beside being in
my bag with a single blanket over me, I
had outside of that two overcoats, haver-
sacks, boots, and every variety of thing,
yet was too cold to sleep. One of our
officers had three of his toes frozen during
the night, while in bed. I am all puckered
up by this weather, but find it healthy.

On Picket, March 20th, 1864.

I am not fond of picket duty at any
time, but under present conditions it is
almost intolerable. I came out here yes-
terday among a lot of ignorant, swearing,
drinking officers, unknown to me, and all
intensely disagreeable. They amuse them-
selves by card playing, toadying their pri-
vates, rough talk ; and I expect a row with
them every moment. They allow their
favorites among the privates to eat and
drink with them, but I told the command-
ing officer yesterday that I did not allow
a private to come into my quarters in camp,
159

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

and should not here, and if he wished to
talk to one, it must be outside, and not
while I was in the hut. The officer looked
at me pretty sharply, as if he meant to be
insulting, and I was prepared for it; but
he merely said, " You officers of the Twen-
tieth Mass. treat your privates different
from what we do, but if you don't like this
man here I '11 send him out," which he did.
If he had not complied with my demand,
I should have brought charges against him,
and this he well knew.

April 13th, 1864.

General Gibbon reviewed our division
to-day, and for a wonder the weather was
pleasant. Abbott led the column behind
the band; then the adjutant and I fol-
lowed, and, be it whispered, my old Bess
and her rider felt so gay, not to say self-
conscious, that it was extremely difficult
for the latter to salute the general with his
sword, which, by the way, was borrowed.
160

OF THE CIVIL WAR

This morning I was awakened by feel-
ing myself tightly held, seeing Hayward's
face close to mine, and hearing him say
in some agitation, " John, don't move for
your life till I say ' three,' then seize my
hands and spring to your feet. One, two,
three!" Up I sprang, and never made a
cleaner jump, but just in time to see a
moccasin snake dive under my coat, which
I had used for a pillow. Armed with
sticks, we dragged the coat away, but saw
only the hole into which the snake had
glided. I was glad afterwards we missed
killing him, for he had lain coiled almost
under the back of my neck, and, as it
proved, waited patiently for me to move
and let him enter his hole; so I feel rather
pleased that his patience was rewarded.

More than one hundred German recruits
have arrived to-day, and I have examined
them. These fellows, who have just left
their own country and now find themselves
in a foreign army, where an unknown
11 161

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

tongue is spoken, are already singing their
camp songs, merry as crickets.

The band of the first division, which is
the best in the army, played this evening
at the fort on the hill. The air was so
filled with melody I could barely stand it.
I used to listen comfortably to music, but
now, although the enjoyment is far greater,
I listen painfully.

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OF THE CIVIL WAR

CHAPTER XII

THE COMMENCEMENT OF GRANT'S
CAMPAIGN

GENERAL GRANT has appointed
the day after to-morrow to review
our corps. Yesterday he reviewed
the Sixth corps, and all through the re-
view sat on his horse and smoked a cigar.
He never even uncovered his head when
the colors were dipped in passing him.

April 19th, 1864.
On Friday our division was reviewed by
General Hancock in the presence of Gen-
erals Meade, Sedgwick, and half a dozen
others. The regiment had again the post
of honor, — the right of the column. It
was complimented on every side, — and let
me say that it is very rare for the com-
163

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

manding general to compliment an indi-
vidual regiment; but on that day all of
them said they had never seen more splen-
did marching, and also that they had no
idea there was such a regiment in the ser-
vice. After the review the generals went
to General Gibbon's headquarters for a
collation. General Meade then asked Gen-
eral Gibbon to send for the Twentieth, as
he wished to see it manoeuvre, after which
the officers of the Twentieth were invited
to the collation. The rumor is that after
to-morrow no mails will be allowed to go
North.

April 20th, 1864.
It is a cold, cloudy, cheerless day, and
I confess my condition is like the weather.
I am blue and homesick. Yes, this may
seem extraordinary, but to me it is as
common in this dull life as to see the
stars in the sky. There is too little occu-
pation; I am read out and wearied to
death.

164

OF THE CIVIL WAR

To-day, beside my sick calls, I have done
nothing but loaf with my hands in my
pockets, from tent to tent, for it has been
too cold to sit outside, and my chimney has
smoked too much for a fire. Most of the
time my eyes stream with tears from the
constant smoke I live in. Yesterday, for
variety, and the hope of benefit, I shaved
off my mustache, — but I allow it did take
moral courage, — and then had a most
laughable time calling upon our officers at
their respective huts. Not one of them rec-
ognized me until I spoke, and then they
roared with laughter. Not so with Abbott
and Uncle Nathan, though. They were
really put out with me, and saw no joke
whatever, — said I looked like the devil,
and I think Abbott would have liked to put
me under guard, and for the simple reason
that the loss of a mustache broke the mili-
tary uniformity of the regiment!

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LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

May 3rd, 1864.

At last orders have come to move, and
now commences the campaign of 1864
under Grant. How will it end? It has
begun, at least, in secrecy, for no one
seems to know what is to be done beyond
marching, and that marching under Grant
means moving towards the enemy.

As is usual, after a winter's rest and
idleness in camp, the men open a new
campaign with an excess of spirit. We
crossed the river without opposition, and
late in the afternoon struck the Fredericks-
burg Turnpike, which we followed in what
seemed to be a westerly direction. Be-
fore long we heard sharp musketry firing,
toward which we made our way, and about
dusk struck a road running south and at
right angles to that which we were on.
Here we halted, and were told to bivouac
under arms against a rail fence, which
stood between us and the thick woods
166

OF THE CIVIL WAR

where the firing was. The woods were so
dense that we could not distinguish the
artillery firing from the rest of the reports,
but the sound continued until dark.

Hot firing opened at daybreak, and it
seemed so near that when orders came to
" fall in line," the new German recruits
simply would not obey. They were so
terrified that they lay like logs, and no
amount of rough handling, even with
bayonets, had any effect upon them what-
ever. The order to advance was given;
still these fellows clung to the ground
with faces buried in the grass, and, although
some were shot by the officers, literally
nothing moved them.

"Go on," was the next order, and on
we went, leaving the miserable wretches
lying there, — a few may have fallen into
line, but I doubt it. We pushed forward,
and very quickly were walking over rows
of dead bodies piled at times two and three
deep, and they lay in lines, exactly as if
167

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

mowed down, showing the havoc of yes-
terday's fight. These lines seemed to be
equally distant one from the other, as if
each body of men advanced a certain dis-
tance, received a volley, then advanced
again, and received another. I noticed a
man near me in the ranks at this time
singing a hymn with all his might and
main. His head was thrown back, his
mouth wide open, and he seemed com-
pletely absorbed in the emotion called
forth to the hymn, which made him ob-
livious of all surroundings. I watched
him curiously, and understood that it was
an instinctive impulse on his part to try
to hold his senses together and to steady
himself under the well-nigh unendurable
strain. As long as I saw the fellow, he
kept his place without stumbling, and
obeyed orders.

The right of the Twentieth bore on the
turnpike for about two miles, when we met
the enemy and the fighting began. I
168

OF THE CIVIL WAR

stationed myself just behind the regiment
in the woods on the side of the road, and
opened my hospital paraphernalia; then
sent the stretcher-bearers over the field.
Soon I was deep in work.

Meanwhile reserves were brought up,
and among them I saw General Bartlett
at the head of his brigade; but we had
time only for a passing salute. Shortly
after that an orderly came towards me,
leading a horse, with an officer in the
saddle, back from the front. The man
was bent far over the horse's neck, bleed-
ing profusely from a wound in the head,
and white as death. To my dismay, I saw
it was Frank Bartlett, and I called his
name again and again, but did not suc-
ceed in rousing him. Passing my finger
into the wound before taking him from
the saddle, I found the ball had not pene-
trated the bone, but had simply severed
an artery in the scalp; so, pressing the
artery till the steward brought a ligature,
169

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

I shouted, "No harm dpne, old boy; this
is only a flesh wound; you will be all right
when I tie the artery and take a stitch or
two "; and this good news seemed to bring
him back to consciousness. I then laid him
on the ground, and, after my work was
finished, gave him a good horn of whiskey
and very soon he rallied completely.

" John," he said, " I thought I was done
for. Well, old fellow, if I 'm all right,
here goes!" and before I could stop him
he had sprung into the saddle, waved his
hand to me, and was off to the front again
as fast as his horse could carry him. Such
is the mental power of the two little words
" death " and " life."

About the middle of the afternoon Gen-
eral Hancock rode up and told me to stop
work and send all my wounded to the rear,
as our troops were to fall back. This was
tough and hot work, but I gathered all I
could find and fell back with the rest.

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OF THE CIVIL WAR

May , 1864.

Something happened to me in this re-
treat to the crossroads which Hayward says
was a heat-stroke, for there was no expo-
sure to the sun, as I was sheltered by the
woods. I remember nothing from the time
General Hancock ordered me back and
the wounded were sent off, till I found
myself lying under an apple-tree, with
" Uncle Nathan " sponging my head with
cold water. My steward says that while on
the retreat I talked incoherently, then ran
and shouted, until he guided me to the Divi-
sion Hospital, where I fell unconscious.

When I came to my senses sufficiently
to sit up, Hayward told me that our little
Abbott (at that time major, but acting
colonel) had been shot through the abdo-
men and was dying. Dying! It was too
dreadful to bear! Harry Abbott was an
ideal man; an ideal officer, reverenced by
his friends and deeply respected by all
171

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

who knew him. What will become of the
Twentieth without him I cannot imagine;
for he was its life, its discipline, and its
success.1

The Wilderness, May 7th, 1864.

I am safe and well, but our losses have
been fearful. Poor Abbott is dead; Macy
has a slight wound in the leg, not danger-
ous; Bond is shot in the jaw, but doing
well; Walcott in the shoulder, and three
others badly wounded.

During the first day's fight I was with
the regiment, but now I am detailed to the
hospital with Dr. Hayward, three miles in
the rear. I have been operating all day,
and really learned more in the way of ex-
perience than in all the time since joining
the regiment.

1 Major Abbott was shot through the body, and lived for
about eight hours after. He left all his money to the widows
and orphans of the regiment. General Gibbon wrote to his
father that he was considered the most valuable officer in the
corps.

OF THE CIVIL WAR

May 8th, 1864.

Exhaustion and confusion worse con-
founded. Although perfectly well, I am
tired and hot, having slept only a couple
of hours out of the last forty. We are
still in the Wilderness, fighting our way
inch by inch. The Twentieth has been in no
important action since I last wrote; our
loss was then so terrible that they have
spared us a little. Curtis is now in com-
mand, as Captain Paton was shot in the
hand; but we cannot induce him to go to
the rear.

The Confederates fight determinedly,
and their force facing us is almost equal
to ours, but we drive them each day. We
are both on a race for Richmond, and I
wonder which will get the inside track. If
we do, our journey will be forty miles
shorter than theirs. Feeling as I do now,
the thought of a forty-mile march is
quite repulsive. Grant seems determined
173

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

to keep on fighting, and either win or
lose.

I now sit on the ground in the woods,
leaning against a log and writing on my
knee. I am surrounded by soldiers, bon-
fires, and kicking horses, — but out of their
reach, I assure you; dust is sweeping over
me like smoke; my face is black with dirt
and perspiration, clothes soiled and torn
almost to pieces. I am too tired to sleep,
too tired to stand, and should dislike to
have you see me just now. Although we
have been steadily banging away at each
other for a week, neither side has gained
much advantage. The enemy has gradu-
ally fallen back, but each day shows a bold
front.

The sun is just setting, thank God! but
it is uncertain whether we shall march all
night, go out on picket, or lie down and
sleep, — the thought of sleep makes me
absolutely silly. We never know what we
may be doing the next five minutes.
174

The Country through which the Battle of the Wilderness
was fought — A Pontoon Bridge

OF THE CIVIL WAR

Hello! Here come two hundred " John-
nies " as prisoners. They look defiant. I
would in their place.

May 11th, 1864.
My last writing was interrupted by
orders to march, and fighting has been
constant during the last three days. I
am well, and incessantly at work over the
wounded. I send this through a " Chris-
tian Commission " man, who goes North
to-day.

May 13th, 1864.

Fighting still, — ten days of it without
intermission. I am so exhausted and nerv-
ous it is difficult to express myself; am
operating day and night. This thing can-
not last much longer, for one side or the
other must yield from sheer exhaustion.

I am trying to gather together the Twen-
tieth, but so far can find but two officers, no
men, no colors. The only privates I have
discovered are here in the hospital, and
175

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

apparently there is almost nothing left of
the dear old regiment.

Wilderness near
s potts ylvania court-house,
Division Hospital, May 17th, 1864.

Seventeen days since I have heard a word
from the North. Not a single mail has
been sent us since we left winter quarters.

We now find that six officers of the
Twentieth are living (excluding Surgeon
Hay ward and myself) out of twenty who
started with us. I am at present detailed
to run the Division Hospital with Dr.
Divenell.

Surgeons captured by the enemy are
well treated and immediately paroled; in
fact, they are scarcely noticed, much less
disturbed. If one happens to have on a
good pair of boots, he is generally relieved of
them, which, under the circumstances, seems
quite fair and proper. I have talked to
many Confederates, and some of the offi-
176

OF THE CIVIL WAR

cers admit terrible losses on their side, and
seem discouraged. They tell me that we
never fought so determinedly, so fiercely,
or so long at a time as in this campaign,
and that they could not possibly stand an-
other such siege. For ten days the battle
raged each day, we being the assaulting
party. We have been comparatively quiet
the last two days, burying our dead.

12 177

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

CHAPTER XIII

CAPTAIN KELLIHER'S WOUNDS

IT has rained every day for a week; the
mud is several feet deep, and the men
thoroughly water-logged, but, never-
theless, they are cheerful and ready to
begin the contest again. I dread the re-
sults of a fight, but must confess, as it
seems the only way of forcing the end, I
want to go ahead.

Banks of the Mattapony River,

May 22nd, 1864.

We are not allowed mail facilities in this
campaign, and our only opportunities for
sending letters North are by the wounded
on their way to the rear. I have material
enough for fifty letters, but dare not risk
it in the hands of wounded privates.
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OF THE CIVIL WAR

Our corps, the Second, is separated from
the main army. We made a forced march
to this place, which is called Milf ord, night
before last and yesterday. We are two
miles from Bowling Green, by the Fred-
ericksburg and Richmond Railroad, and
on the banks of the Mattapony River.
General Hancock made this move success-
fully, but with a loss of about fifty of his
cavalry. This is the route by which Gen-
eral Lee sent all his wounded to Richmond.
We are almost directly in General Lee's
rear, — at any rate, so far in his rear that
it is probable he will have to fall back in
order to fight us. We have entrenched
ourselves as securely as we can, and the
river covers both our flanks. The Second
corps is estimated at twenty-five thousand
men.

On one of the recent days of fighting,
at early dawn the troops were in line,
when the order was given to charge with-
out noise. While on the run, — I f ollow-
179

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

ing with my hospital steward about twenty
yards in the rear of the men, — we saw in
a clump of bushes a pair of boots with
soles up, as if the owner had taken a head-
long leap into the hedge. Stopping to in-
vestigate, I pulled out Captain Kelliher
of the Twentieth. He was horribly
mangled about the face and neck, as if
from a shell or solid shot; yet no gun
had been heard, and no one seen to leave
the ranks.

I found him bleeding freely from a
laceration of the subclavian artery, show-
ing that the injury could only have been
received a moment before, else he would
have bled to death. He was still living,
though unconscious, and after tying the
artery, so as to stop the hemorrhage, he
was placed on a stretcher and carried to
the rear. The fighting lasted but a short
time; as the Confederates were but par-
tially surprised, they rallied and held us in
check.

180

OF THE CIVIL WAR

As soon as the Division Hospital tents
were up, I had Kelliher taken to Dr.
Hay ward, who, finding him still alive,
though yet unconscious, decided to remove
the shattered bones and to clean and stitch
the wounds, so as to give him all the com-
fort possible, but with no hope of saving
his life. Under the chloroform the captain
rallied still more, and a few hours after
our work was finished he finally became
conscious. Dr. Hayward had removed the
shattered lower jaw, the whole arm, in-
cluding a shoulder-blade, or scapula, the
clavicle, or collar-bone, and a large part of
the first two ribs on the same side of the
body, as all these broken bones were lacer-
ating the flesh, and the surfaces of the
lung were exposed. When the operation
was completed, the line of suture for clos-
ing the wounds ran from the ear to within
an inch or two of the pelvis.

I placed the patient under my shelter
tent, and ordered the steward to feed and
181

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

stimulate him as directed. In the night it
rained so hard that I dug a trench about
him to keep him from being drenched and
chilled. The following day we were or-
dered to push on, and to place the wounded,
who were unable to march, in army wagons
destined for the " White House Landing,"
which was twenty miles away. What was
to become of poor Kelliher? Surely he
could never survive such a strain, even
though at the time he was doing well.
After much deliberation I decided to con-
sult the captain himself, and to follow his
decision. In presenting to him the situa-
tion, I offered to remain with him in case
he wished to be left, and told him that we
must simply make up our minds to be cap-
tured by the enemy; but his answer was
clear and prompt: " I will go to the White
House Landing, Doctor, and, Doctor, I
shall live." So, doing what was possible
to make him comfortable with the use of
straw and grass by way of a mattress, I
182

OF THE CIVIL WAR

bade him good-bye, never dreaming that
he could survive such a journey.1

1 Captain Kelliher, after complete recovery, rejoined the
Twentieth and was commissioned its major, and remained in
active service with the regiment till the end of the war.

183

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

CHAPTER XIV

OPERATING AND MARCHING

Two Miles from Hanover Junction,

May 24th, 1864.

I CAN scratch only a few lines, being up
to my elbows in blood. Oh, the fatigue
and endless work we surgeons have!
About one night in three to sleep in, and
then we are so nervous and played out that
sleep is impossible.

The hospital is fast filling up with poor
fellows who last night charged upon the
enemy's works on the other side of the
river. We are some fifteen miles nearer
Richmond than when I last wrote, and the
strongest works of the Confederacy are
at this point and at the South Anna River.
They were thrown up during the first year
of the war.

184

OF THE CIVIL WAR

It looks now as if we should still compel
the enemy to fall back. We have had a
deal of forced marching lately, and the heat
has been almost intolerable. At times it
has seemed as if the sun's rays would lay
us out, yet we march all day, and through
volumes upon volumes of dense dust. News
has just come that the Confederates are
falling back, and so I suppose we must
pack our wounded into wagons and move
after them with all the speed possible.

It seems to me I am quite callous to
death now, and that I could see my dear-
est friend die without much feeling. This
condition tells a long story which, under
other circumstances, could scarcely be im-
agined. During the last three weeks I have
seen probably no less than two thousand
deaths, and among them those of many
dear friends. I have witnessed hundreds
of men shot dead, have walked and slept
among them, and surely I feel it possible
to die myself as calmly as any, — but
185

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

enough of this. The fight is now fearful,
and. ambulances are coming in with great
rapidity, each bearing its suffering load.

Fifteen Miees from White House on

York River, May 30th, 1864.

We are now fourteen miles from Rich-
mond, having marched pretty steadily
southward ever since I last wrote. Oh,
why will not the Confederacy burst up!
True, we are drawing very near to Rich-
mond, but the tug of war will come at the
Chickahominy River. Although the Con-
federates had the shortest road, we rather
stole a march upon them this time before
they could reach and stop us, and, by mak-
ing a hard, forced march, we saved many
lives. The morale of the enemy is injured
by their falling back in retreat so far,
while that of our army is correspondingly
improved. They are now pretty near their
last ditch, and the fight there will be fierce
and strong. I work day and night, and
186

OH THE CIVIL WAR

when not busy with the sick and wounded
am on the tedious march.

Cold Harbor, June 4th, 1864.

I have not had a moment to write for
nearly a week. It has been fight, fight,
fight. Every day there is a fight, and
every day the hospital is again filled. For
four days now we have been operating
upon the men wounded in one battle,
which lasted only about two hours; but
the wounds were more serious than those
from former engagements. I am heart-
sick over it all. If the Confederates lost
in each fight the same number as we, there
would be more chance for us; but their
loss is about one man to our five, from
the fact that they never leave their earth-
works, whereas our men are obliged to
charge even when there is not the slight-
est chance of taking them. Three several
times after capturing these works our
troops were unsupported and had to evacu-
187

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

ate immediately, with great loss. The
men are becoming discouraged, but there
is plenty of fight in them yet.

June 7th, 1864.

For the first time, I believe, since this
campaign commenced, I am lying upon
my blankets at twelve o'clock, noon. This
morning early we sent almost every man
in the hospital to the " White House," to
make room for others. Under a flag of
truce, we asked permission of the enemy to
take off our wounded who were lying be-
tween the two lines. This, of course, pre-
vented all hostilities, and we surgeons are
having a few hours' rest.

June 10th, 1864.
The front lines are within thirty yards
of the Confederate works, — indeed, so
near that a biscuit could easily be tossed
into them. On neither side do the men
dare show their heads above the entrench-
188

OF THE CIVIL WAK

ments, for it is almost sure death to do
so. The sharpshooters on both sides are
so placed that they can pick off anything
which appears in sight.

We have had thirty of our division
wounded to-day by shell which the Con-
federates manage to throw into our pits,
but we are successful in dropping some
into theirs also. The heat is intolerable,
and the roads are covered with dust six or
eight inches deep, which every gust of
wind sweeps up, covering everything with
a dirty, white coating.

189

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

CHAPTER XV

THE DEATH OF LIEUTENANT G OF

THE SHARPSHOOTERS

Hospital near Petersburg,

June 20th, 1864.

OUR division is relieved from duty in
the front line, where it has fought
ever since the campaign commenced.
Yesterday another brave officer, Lieuten-
ant G of the Twentieth regiment, was

killed, and so uselessly, too.

Lieutenant G was in command of

the sharpshooters attached to the regiment,
but who are not under its absolute con-
trol. They form an independent organi-
zation, going where they can most injure
the enemy. We had been fighting for
several days in the most advanced trenches
amidst persistent firing from both sides,
190

OF THE CIVIL WAR

which, however, did little damage, except
to prevent all rest and sleep. Finally both
armies saw the folly of such warfare and
desisted. Towards noon yesterday, weary,
I suppose, of the inaction, a Confederate
sharpshooter mounted his earthwork and
challenged any one of our sharpshooters to

single combat. Lieutenant G , a fine

fellow, standing at least six feet two in his
stockings, accepted the challenge, and they
commenced what to them was sport. Life
is cheap in this campaign! Both fired, and

the Confederate dropped. G 's great

size was so unusual that his opponent had
the advantage, and our men tried to make
him give way to a smaller man. But, no!
He would not listen, became very excited
as his successes multiplied, and when dark-
ness stopped the duelling he remained un-
scathed, while every opponent had fallen
victim to his unerring aim.

The lieutenant was so exhilarated that he
claimed with much bluster a charmed life;
191

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

said nothing would kill him; that he could
stand any amount of duelling, and this he
would prove in the morning. When he was
in his tent for the night, we officers used
every argument and entreaty to convince
him of the foolhardiness and criminality
of such a course, and also assured him of
the certainty of his death. But the man
seemed crazed with the faith in his charmed
life. He would not yield his determina-
tion, and when we left him was simply
waiting, as best he could, for daylight to
begin the duelling again.

As we all foretold, he was finally killed,
but his death was due to treachery. In the
morning, true to his mistaken conviction,
he stood upon the works again and chal-
lenged an opponent. Instantly one ap-
peared, and as both were taking aim, a man
from another part of the Confederate line

fired and shot G through the mouth,

the ball lodging in the spinal vertebrae,

completely paralyzing him below the head.

192

OF THE CIVIL WAR

We dragged the poor, deluded fellow to
his tent, where, after uttering inarticu-
lately, " I hit him any way, Doctor," he
died.

We then heard a tremendous uproar out-
side, and found that our men were claim-
ing the murderer of their lieutenant; but
the Confederates shouted that they had
already shot him for a cowardly villain,
and then came praises across the line for
Lieutenant G 's pluck and skill.

I remember another instance of unjusti-
fiable shooting which occurred last year,
but under very different circumstances.
Our division was standing idle, while the
skirmishers of another Federal corps and
the skirmishers of the enemy were disput-
ing the possession of an open field,. Our
general, in watching them, saw that the
Confederate officer in command was supe-
rior to ours, and by his skilful manoeuvres
was gradually driving the Federal skir-
mishers in. Turning to one of Lieutenant
13 193

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

G 's sharpshooters, who was standing

by his side, he said, " Can you pick off
that man? " pointing to the officer. " I
think so," was the answer, and raising his
rifle, he fired, and, as we say, " dropped
him."

The sharpshooter's rifle had a telescope
attached, and this brought the officer, who
was some three hundred yards away, close
to. Nevertheless, it was a remarkable shot ;
but I am thankful to say that every man
who witnessed the act pronounced it con-
temptible and cowardly. The manoeuvre
was not against our division; we were not
involved, but simply looking on, and later
even the general acknowledged and deeply
regretted his fatal impulse.

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OF THE CIVIL WAR

CHAPTER XVI

A DELIGHTFUL EPISODE

Hospital near Petersburg,

June 21st, 1864.

GENERAL GRANT has made a
strategical movement, and here we
find ourselves, after a very circui-
tous but rapid march, south of the James
River and pegging away at the side door
of Petersburg. This movement was on
a very extensive scale, but accomplished
without accident or unnecessary delay.
The day we started all surgeons were or-
dered to join their respective commands,
but I, being attached to the hospital, was
obliged to remain with it. In other words,
I had to follow the hospital wagons, look
after the stores, and attend the sick and
wounded in the ambulances. These wagons
195

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

took the same route as the troops but kept
far in their rear. The heat each day was
intense, and the dust beyond any expres-
sion of which I am capable; but suffice it
to say that most of the time I could not
even see the head of my horse. The whole
train was fifty miles long, the roads sandy,
and we moved with the heavy draw of great
bodies. We marched about sixty miles in
four days and nights, halting every six or
eight hours to bait horse and man. Little
opportunity was given us for sleep, and,
separated from Hayward and Macy, I felt
at times tired and restless, as the officers
near me were disagreeable fellows, who
often amused themselves by entering
the houses along the route and stealing
everything they could lay their hands
upon.

Some pitiable sights I saw! Although
the officers did nothing really cruel, the
example they set to their men was de-
moralizing in the extreme. Such wanton
196

OF THE CIVIL WAR

destruction of property, such pillage and
forage I never saw equalled.

I stopped at a house to ask for a drink
of water and, finding the front door open,
knocked and stepped inside. An elderly
lady came to the door in great distress, and
seeing that I was an officer, exclaimed,
" Oh, sir, if you have a heart, protect us I
The soldiers are taking everything we have
to live on; no food will be left our chil-
dren; we shall starve! " She then led me
into a room where were two ladies, two
young girls, several small children, and an
old gentleman, all clinging to one another
and sobbing as though their hearts would
break.

I said that I would do all in my power
to help them. I advised them immediately
to collect from the place everything in
the way of food that it was possible to
scrape up, — chickens, pigs, corn, etc., —
which they proceeded to do, and after a
long time returned with two old hens,
197

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

a few hams, and about a barrel of corn.
When these were locked in a room up-
stairs, I offered them my protection until
the wagon train had passed, at which the
old gentleman dropped on his knees in
prayer; and I did not wonder, for the
whole situation was pitiful enough, — a
family of eight huddled together, each
looking to the other for courage to sup-
port life, while rude hands snatch every-
thing, leaving starvation behind.

My position was no sinecure, for the
men rushed in and attempted to search the
house upstairs, and it was only by stand-
ing on the stairs with pistol drawn that
I could prevent their doing so. I waited
till long after the train had passed, and
then managed to procure for these poor
people from our quartermaster coffee,
sugar, and hardtack, — articles which they
had not seen for months. It is difficult
to imagine the varied suffering of these
Southerners, many of them used to great
198

OF THE CIVIL WAR

luxury; yet, of course, their experience
spells war, and sometimes in my imagi-
nation that one word is swollen till it al-
most bursts with all it includes.

After joining the train again, and while
riding with one of the lieutenants in charge,
as a great cloud of dust rolled off, we saw
through the intervening branches of trees
a scene so apart from our own condition
of dirt and confusion that it seemed like
a dream. It was a stately old-time home-
stead, surrounded by rich lawns and cul-
tivated fields, with an air of such calm and
dignity, such seclusion and peace, that, al-
though we feared to trespass and so break
the charm which seemed to shelter it, the
longing for its rest and refreshment proved
irresistible. Turning our horses' heads
towards the spot, we were quickly there,
and then found that the freshness of this
lovely oasis was due to a serpentine twist
of the Chickahominy River, which almost
completely enclosed the plantation.
199

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

Riding up the fine old avenue of what
we supposed a deserted house, — as the
blinds were tightly closed and absolute
stillness prevailed, — we reached the big
front porch; then dismounting, we tied
our horses, and, sitting upon the hospitable
steps, drank in the sweetness and silence
of the place with intense delight. Sud-
denly we heard a click behind us, as of a
key turned in its socket. Instinctively
neither of us showed that we noticed the
sound. Feeling ready for any emergency,
we quietly awaited further developments.

Again came a noise, a decided creak, and
we became sure that some one was scan-
ning us through the open door. Still we
did not turn, for, in spite of the possibil-
ity of danger, the relief we felt in our
surroundings roused a spirit of fun and
adventure. This proved too much for the
curiosity of the party in the doorway, and
presently a refined and gentle voice asked,
" What do you wish, gentlemen? "
200

OF THE CIVIL WAR

We were instantly on our feet and bow-
ing to an old lady who was standing in
the open door. I answered, " Nothing,
madam, but to be allowed to enjoy the
quiet and beauty here for a few minutes."

She ventured nearer. " You belong to
the Union forces, I see. What State are
you from? " I told her Massachusetts.
"From Boston?" " Yes, madam," and
noticing in her kind face more interest,
I asked if she had associations there.

A long pause followed, and I saw some-
thing was being considered, for instead of
answering me she turned to the lieutenant,
saying, " May I ask where your home is,
sir? " " Pennsylvania," he answered. An-
other pause. Finally, looking straight into
my eyes, she said, " I had a son in Har-
vard College." " In what class? " I asked.
" In the class of '62." " Why, that was
my class originally," I said; " may I ask
his name? "

When she gave me this and heard that
201

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

I knew him well, in spite of the gathering
tears and quivering lips, she looked pleased
and helped. Laying her hand upon my
arm, she said, " My husband and son are
both away in the Confederate service, and
this is our home. Here are our traditions " ;
then drawing herself erect with old-time
dignity, she added, " my husband and son
are fighting for them, sir, while my daugh-
ters and I are enduring for them."

In spite of this quiet assertion of
Southern principle, I was sure that my
companionship with her boy in college
gave to his mother a sense of protection
in my presence, so that for the time, at
least, she felt some relief and rest.

" I would like my daughters to meet a
classmate of their brother," she said, and,
as she called them by name in the hall, the
lieutenant, with eyes brimful of fun, whis-
pered to me, " By George, there are two
of them."

We heard the bang of a distant door,
202

OF THE CIVIL WAR

steps flying over the stairs, and then two
such pretty girls burst into the room that
to us, who had long been unused to any-
thing but dust and dirt, their freshness and
their dainty muslin dresses seemed but a
part of the beautiful old place and the
spell that held it.

The old lady introduced us, and soon
we were chatting away as old playmates
might have done. They told us of their
mother's fears for them while our troops
were passing, and of their consequently
being shut up in some distant attic. We
sang college songs to their accompaniment
on the piano; we sang and we laughed,
as if there were no such thing as war
about us.

Finally, and reluctantly, we rose to take
our leave, saying — I fear a little lamely —
that we were in a hurry to rejoin our regi-
ment; but the old lady, who had left the
room, now returned and most cordially in-
vited us to lunch; whereupon, I must con-
203

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

fess, all sense of hurry disappeared, and
after some slight demur, really impossible
to persist in, we gladly and thankfully
accepted her hospitality. We had a fine
lunch, which means that everything was
dainty, fresh, and abundant, and we were
doing full justice to the occasion, when
terrific yells and howls interrupted us.
Rushing to the piazza, we saw a lot of
cavalry men sprawling and rolling on the
ground, kicking, struggling, and scream-
ing. They were being attacked by a per-
fect army of bees whose hive they had
been robbing, and were in absolute agony,
yet their quick retribution made the scene
almost ludicrous.

I soon discovered that foraging was
going on everywhere, and started to do
what I could to stop it, when I met the
officer in command of the cavalry and
asked his protection for the place, telling
him the circumstances of our presence
there. I saw a twinkle in his eye as he
204

OF THE CIVIL WAR

promised to stop the foraging, and added
that he would then call upon the ladies
himself. Following him to see that he ful-
filled his word, we approached the front
porch of the house, from which a perfect
bedlam of sounds greeted us, — squeals,
cries, and men's coarse voices, — in the
midst of which we could distinguish the
lieutenant's commands and the entreaties
of the ladies.

When we reached the door we saw two
great cavalrymen coming downstairs, each
bearing a pig on his shoulders. The lieu-
tenant was uselessly ordering them to give
up their booty, and the ladies scolding and
protesting at this " brutal robbery." The
cavalry officer commanded his men to
" Halt! " which they did, still holding the
pigs, however; then holding the parlor
door open for the ladies to pass in, he
ordered the men to carry back the pigs
to the place where they had found them,
but in such a half -authoritative way that
205

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

oaths were his only answer. This made
the officer so angry that he drew his sword
and belabored them over their heads and
shoulders, while they rushed through the
open door, bearing away their victims in
triumph.

The foraging was stopped after this,
however, and peace restored to the old
place. The cavalrymen rode off in one
direction and the lieutenant and I in an-
other, after taking leave of the ladies
and receiving their affectionate farewell.
Many a backward glance did we give at
the beautiful old place; and until the view
was obscured we saw those two pretty girls
waving their handkerchiefs to us from the
veranda.

206

OF THE CIVIL WAR

CHAPTER XVII

FIELD HOSPITAL NEAR PETERSBURG

June 24th, 1864.

I AM up to my neck in work. It is
slaughter, slaughter. Our brigade
has met with a sad loss by having
three entire regiments gobbled up as pris-
oners. The Twentieth fortunately escaped.
This misfortune was caused by the second
brigade giving way before the attack of
the enemy and exposing the flank of our
own. The enemy, before we knew it, was
in our rear, and resistance was absurd.
Major Hooper, who commanded the bri-
gade, was the only one of the Fifteenth
Massachusetts who escaped. He received a
slight wound in the arm, however, and
started for home yesterday. Lucky
fellow! No time for writing more.
207

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

June 27th, 1864.

When our division was withdrawn from
the extreme front, where it has been since
the beginning of the campaign, we sur-
geons looked for a little less arduous
work; but now the artillery brigade has
been placed under our care, and we have
as much to do as ever. It has not rained
for a month, and the poor wounded fel-
lows lie all about me, suffering intensely
from heat and flies. The atmosphere is
almost intolerable from the immense quan-
tity of decomposing animal and vegetable
matter upon the ground. Many of the
surgeons are ill, and I indulge in large
doses of quinine. Horses and mules die
by hundreds from continued hard labor
and scant feed. The roads are strewn
with them, and the decay of these, with
that of human bodies in the trenches,
causes malaria of the worst kind.

War! war! war! I often think that
208

(

OF THE CIVIL WAR

in the future, when human character shall
have deepened, there will be a better way
of settling affairs than this of plunging
into a perfect maelstrom of horror.

Field Hospital, June 29th, 1864.

Rumor says that the Twentieth is to be
mustered out of service on the 18th of
July.

Grant is winding his forces round
Petersburg. Our infantry is about two
miles from the Weldon Railroad, and it
is reported that our cavalry have cut the
railroad lower down. The Confederates
are close to starvation, especially the women
and children, and yet there is no sign of
their yielding.

Our division has again been put in the
front line of rifle-pits, and again the poor
wounded fellows will be coming in. All
this accumulation of experience quickly
changes careless boys into sober and
thoughtful men, — men who trust, and
14 209

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

who feel that whatever happens, in the
end it will somehow be for the best; men
who value what has not cost them a
thought before. I know of a little book,
carried in breast pocket or knapsack, — in-
deed, wherever it may seem safest, — that
has now become a dependence amid suf-
fering and privation.

July 2nd, 1864.

For several days I have had no time to
write.

The report to-night is that the Second
corps is to take transports for Maryland.
This may be true or not. We have few
W7ounded men in the hospital, but a great
many sick. However, the army is, on the
whole, comparatively healthy. Harry Ab-
bott's loss still shadows my every thought;
I cannot yet think of it with any com-
posure. When the little monograph of his
life was taken to General Hancock by
Captain Paton, General Hancock said,
" I am sorry, Captain, that my opinion
210

OF THE CIVIL WAR

of Major Abbott is not expressed here as
well as General Gibbon's. Every general
in the army knew Major Abbott. He was
the best regimental commander I ever saw.
His position was such that he could not
be promoted as we all desired to have him,
but had he lived he would have had by
this time a brigade, at least, to command."

July 4th, 1864.

Water is very scarce here; wells have
to be dug to the depth of forty feet, and
then the water not only runs in slowly,
but is very muddy. Ice found in a house
on one of the plantations has been a God-
send to the hospital during this heat, but
it has all gone now.

The question of my going home with
the regiment still absorbs me. At one
hour I am told there will be no difficulty
in being mustered out with the others, and
then some order comes from the War De-
partment, or from the surgeon-general,
211

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

and I am left high and dry in doubt. For
two weeks this has continued, and it wearies
me. The medical director of the corps says
he cannot spare me, and yet I am sorely
needed at home.

Somehow I felt that General Grant
would attack all along the lines to-day
and send North a message of victory; but
instead of that, this has been the quietest
day of the campaign. Now and then the
booming of a gun is heard, but no firing
of small arms. I think from the unusual
calm that the general expects to gain more
by keeping quiet and allowing starvation
to fight for him in the Confederate ranks,
than he could by making a general attack.
The railroads running into Richmond have
all been cut.

July 8th, 1864.

The Twentieth Massachusetts is to be
consolidated into a battalion of seven com-
panies, and an order just issued by the War
Department says that officers not having
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OF THE CIVIL WAR

served three years from the last muster
will be retained, if needed. According to
this order, not an individual officer, except
the quartermaster, can be mustered out on
the 18th, when the regiment is supposed
to go home.

It is intolerably hot, and has been for
some time. No rain has fallen since the
last of May. Our hospital is now in the
woods close to the highway, and we have
the benefit of the dust, which so inces-
santly sweeps over us that we eat and,
breathe it until almost suffocated by it.

July 18th, 1864.

I am retained, and General Hancock
says I must remain.

Dr. Hay ward and I have our quarters
back of the hospital in a little nook, with
green boughs to cover us. I visit the Twen-
tieth about once a week, but it is almost too
sad to go there, as so many of the old fa-
miliar faces are gone. I still hope that I
213

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

may be mustered out of service before very
long, however. I know very well that Gen-
eral. Hancock from his standpoint is right
to retain me, but all the same it seems as if
I could not bear it. If I remained in the
army until September I should be made
surgeon, but I do not care a fig for that.

Camp on the Banks of the James,

July 29th, 1864.

Here we are on a so-called raid, but it
seems to me a mighty hard, hot, tedious
campaign. We left our camp at sundown
on the 27th, and marched all night and part
of the next day to this place.

General F., who held the north bank
of the river, was furiously attacked by the
Confederates, and his men behaved dis-
gracefully, — threw down their arms and
skedaddled at the first appearance of the
enemy, so that our whole corps, with the
addition of twelve thousand cavalry, had to
be sent here to recover the lost ground;
214

OF THE CIVIL WAR

but it is also intended to draw the enemy's
right wing from near Petersburg, so as to
enable the Federal troops to blow up their
works. We have captured several guns
since coming here, among them four beau-
tiful twenty-pound Parrott guns, which
the Confederates had destined to sink our
gunboats and so obstruct the river. We
have driven the enemy four or five miles,
and a prisoner tells me we have taken
Malvern Hill, but the truth of this I can-
not vouch for.

The hospitals are on the south side of
the river and will not be moved across it
until the troops do something decided.
Dr. Hayward and I are quartered on the
bank of the stream where the breeze is de-
lightful and we can watch the movements
of three gunboats and a monitor. Yester-
day, by invitation of their commanders, I
boarded each of them, and had the pleasure
of being present at the firing of one of
their hundred-pound Parrott shells into the
215

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

enemy's earthworks, which were two miles
distant; sighted with the most perfect ac-
curacy, the Confederates were driven out
each time a shell was discharged, and so
prevented from further strengthening their
defences.

216

OF THE CIVIL WAR

CHAPTER XVIII

CAMP NEAR PETERSBURG

August 1st, 1864.

I WROTE last time from the banks of
the James above Bermuda Hundred.
At sunset of that same day (July
29th) came orders to pack immediately and
start on the march. All night we marched,
and arrived at our old camp about eight in
the morning.

Immediately the Federal batteries opened
all along the line, the train was made ready
to blow up the enemy's works, and the negro
troops drawn up to charge them as soon
as a breach was made. These colored regi-
ments were supported by the Fifth corps
in reserve. After our batteries had blazed
away for an hour or two, silencing many
of the enemy's batteries and setting fire to
217

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

buildings in Petersburg, the crucial mo-
ment came and the train was fired. A
low, dull boom was heard, followed by
the cheers of the assaulting troops. On
pressed the negroes in fine order for about
twenty yards, when, as if struck by light-
ning, a panic seized them, and breaking
through the lines of the Fifth corps they
rushed back helter-skelter, creating such
chaos and confusion that a general mob
prevailed. The officers even shot the ne-
groes to stop the stampede, but it was use-
less; the poor fellows were so frantic with
terror that nothing produced any effect
upon them ; and so fizzled our first attempt
at mining. Nothing was gained by the
terrific assaults of that day, in which we
lost many noble lives.

Rumor says that General Bartlett was
taken prisoner with his entire brigade, also
that he was ordered to the front of the
works, where, in consequence of his usual
bravery and skill, all his men followed him,
218

Majou-Gexekal Baiiti.ei

OF THE CIVIL WAR

but that when there his right and left
flanks ran, leaving him unsupported, so
that his whole brigade was surrounded and
escape was out of the question.

August 8th, 1864.

It is very quiet here in front of Peters-
burg, but, oh, so hot! And the combined
efforts of flies, fleas, and black-flies make
life almost hell. At four o'clock in the
morning, which means dawn, I am awak-
ened by the buzzing and humming of these
busy insects at their pestering task, and
this labor does not cease till we poor mor-
tals are again lost to them in the darkness
of the night.

Yesterday was Sunday, and all the em-
ployees and agents of the Sanitary Com-
mission collected together and read their
Bibles aloud, sang psalm tunes, and recited
prayers, for I can call it nothing else. The
effect was doleful in the extreme, and I
never want to repeat such an experience
219

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

while I am in the army. Let men pray by
themselves as much as they please, and read
their Bibles in solitude, but not fill every
man's ears with their sins and offences.

Mining operations still continue, and the
Confederates are mining our works now.
They attempted last Friday to blow up one
of the forts, but made a miscalculation and
did not dig sufficiently far to reach it.
On springing the mine their troops made
a furious charge, and, before the smoke
had blown away to show them their mis-
take, our lines fell back a little so that
the Confederates might enter the works;
then we surrounded and gobbled them up.
After this they will not laugh so loudly
at our failure of last week.

The flies bite so I cannot manage my
thoughts and must therefore stop scrib-
bling.

220

OF. THE CIVIL WAR

August 12th, 1864.
We are ordered to pack and march im-
mediately. I only know that the dust is
two feet deep.

August 13th, 1864.
Last night we lay on our arms without
tents, sleeping as we could.

Here the journal abruptly ends. Owing
to my extreme ill health, influential letters
had for some time been sent to the Secre-
tary of War, asking that under the press-
ing circumstances my husband should be
relieved from duty. These urgent appeals
were finally acceded to, and although it was
hard for him to leave his regiment just as
the end of the war was at hand, regrets
were silenced by the feeling that he would
soon be relieved from the intense anxiety
which my illness had caused him.

As to when the Twentieth Massachusetts
was mustered out is not included in this
221

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

journal — only the older members, those
who had fallen and the very few then
remaining, made a deep and distinct im-
pression. The Doctor and I were safely
together, he launched in his professional
career; and these facts formed the para-
mount interest of the world we then lived,
in. Our youth was strong in those days,
and all else mattered not. We stood in
our present, facing the future, — hopeful,
fearless, and determined. Self-absorbed
it may have been, but I think this is not
rare in the " heyday " of life. The past
had flown, leaving much in its wake, —
much which at the time was unperceived by
us; but our life's experience has cleared our
vision and helped us to know that the ups
and downs of this world always mean the
onward move toward a future near but
inexpressible.

Now many years have passed since this
sad time, and yet to call it sad alone seems
more than trivial, so slightly was it sug-
222

OF THE CIVIL WAR

gestive of all which pertained to civil war.
Only upon the hearts of those who suf-
fered loss is written its true and deeply felt
history. Deeds of heroism known and un-
known, man's greater nature stirred to its
depths by the intense conditions, burst
forth to the cry of every need. The potent
influence of these is above all else the legacy
left us, and its proportions, its beauty, its
tenderness, whether consciously or uncon-
sciously felt, is somewhere within our
depths. We who lived then, and are still
here to-day, bear its reflection in many vital
paths, which will be felt not only in the
lives of our children, but in those of our
children's children.

The following is an extract from a
Boston daily, found as a clipping among
the letters:

" A great deal has been recently said in some
of the newspapers of the duty of wealthy and
educated young men [or those whose parents are

LETTERS FROM A SURGEON

such] to enter the army. Disparaging remarks
have been made against this class, and their
parents, who are supposed to keep them at home.
Certain recruiting officers have taunted them with
want of patriotism, saying that when these * sons
of affluence ' shall come forward, the poor and the
uninfluential will follow. For what purpose do
these men endeavor to excite one class in our com-
munity against another? Is it wise? Is it patri-
otic? They must be ignorant of the facts. Have
they forgotten the four Dwights, or the three
sons of Judge Abbott, the Reveres, the Stephen-
sons, the two Lowells, one of whom, James, died
so nobly in a terrible conflict before Richmond?
Have they forgotten the five or six Curtises, the
four Masons, the three Crownin shields, the Per-
kinses, the Bowditches, the Cabots, Jarvises,
Amorys, Barstows, Sargeants, Palfreys, from
each of whose families two or three have gone
into the army ? Have they forgotten the long list .
among whose names are: Quincy, Adams, Choate,
Bladgen, D'Hauteville, Savage, Russell and Cary,
Higginson, Motley and Stackpole, Holmes, Weld
and Pratt, Appleton, Ropes, Perry, Dehon,
Hayes, Bangs, Shaw, Mudge, Horton, Morse,

224

OF THE CIVIL WAR

Robeson, Forbes, Rand, Clapp, Clark, Grafton,
Shelton, Shurtleff, Dalton, Barnard, Haven,
Johnson, Hayden, Rea, Loring, Swan, Lovett,
Parker, Fisher, and Paine? Have they for-
gotten the wounds of Bartlett, Horton, Putnam,
Merriam, Stevenson? Have they forgotten how
bravely young Putnam gave up his life at Ball's
Bluff, and Major Howe died in the fight before
Richmond ; Foster Hodges, who was with the 5th
regiment at Bull Run, and Horace Dunn, who
left college for the war, both struck down by
malignant fever in camp on Hall's Hill? Let
those who thoughtlessly traduce Young Boston
call to mind what they had done. If any men of
the country have made sacrifices, and undergone
suffering, these have done it. The few who are
left are ready to follow, as the sequel will show."

15 225

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